


Galaxy Days

by BamSara



Series: Cryptids, Emotions And The Possible End Of The World [5]
Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Talks, Fae & Fairies, Fighting, Fist Fights, Fluff, Humor, Irken biology, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Underage Drinking (sorta), Unnamed Alien characters, ZADF, ZaDr, space fairies, space travel, trans dib
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:21:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 48,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25372300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BamSara/pseuds/BamSara
Summary: After the suspension of Dib's membership to Swollen Eyeball's organization, Zim offers a trip to an unknown planet filled with adventure, space anomalies and a reprieve from Earth's stressors as a graduation gift and an escape. Dib accepts in a heartbeat.Unfortunately, both of them are dumb danger magnets, and Dib goes through dealing with fairies, drunken bar fights, space pirates, way too emotional talks and more as he gets sense that Zim has been keeping something from him for a very, very long time. Oh, and the Irken Empire is out for blood. So there's that.
Relationships: Dib/Zim (Invader Zim)
Series: Cryptids, Emotions And The Possible End Of The World [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1611253
Comments: 473
Kudos: 1527





	1. Graduation Gift

**Author's Note:**

> HI HELLO, I hate this first chapter but I think it's good enough to get the ball rolling. Also, there will be references to past works in the series so I strongly recommend you read those first if you're a new comer or some things aren't going to make sense.
> 
> The Title may change because I'm indecisive.
> 
> Notes: Nothing really to be warned about in this chapter. Hope y'all like it :)

High School graduation was immeasurably boring.

The auditorium was too brightly lit that it was giving him a headache, and the cluster of students all sitting together made the place reek of perfume and cologne that everyone had sprayed on prior. The kid sitting left of Dib was playing games on his phone while the principal was giving his speech, the girl to his right blowing bubble gum and he’s pretty sure the person behind him was snickering and whispering as if she was plotting the biggest senior prank the city would ever see in a span of five minutes.

The cap and gowns were black and blue, the cap sitting a bit uncomfortably on his head, (not because of his head size, mind you, it was totally because his cowlick wouldn’t stay underneath it) and the fabric was itchy in places it really shouldn’t have been. Dib picks at the fabric folding over as he scans the room, speech tuned out.

Gaz is sitting in the bleachers a distance away, her usual stoic appearance on her face, in black boots and skirt where as the surrounding seated people were all wearing pearls and ties. A robotic thing beside her, a screen on a metal stand, displaying his father’s attentive face (not a recording this time, it seems, just a video call) overlooking the stadium and the sea of students ready to snag a worthless piece of paper and ditch this haunted land forever.

Dib wonders if the video call quality is high enough that his father can see the disappointment inch on his face at the physical absence, but he shouldn’t have expected better. The pixels shift, his father’s goggles turn to look in his direction and one of the robot stand’s arms raise up ridgepole (nearly smacking the older women sitting beside it) and giving him a stiff wave. Dib raises his hand and returns the gesture, making sure to falsify a smile, and turns away to look for green in the crowd.

Zim sits a few rows ahead and adjacent of him, just close enough for Dib to see him pick and claw at the front of his gown. His eyes are scrunched together and lips tight, obviously irritated with the fabric and silence and clearly not enjoying his time ‘sitting here amongst hundreds of pig-smellies for some stupid ceremony’, or at least that’s what Dib thinks he might say. The alien’s fingers twitch, curl into fists and grumbling something too far away for him to hear.

He looks awkward and out of place, which was normal for him, actually. No one around him seemed to notice, which wasn’t surprising given the fact that most of these people attended school with him for years and not once ever had the inkling of an idea that he’s a little too green to be considered human, but that was a frustration for a different therapy session.

Dib wondered if anyone would catch on when Zim registered his last name as ‘Invader’ when accounting for alphabetical seat assignments, but not a single person batted an eyelid. Hell, even the Pak bulging out from underneath the gown should have been a dead give away with the pink light peeking through the fabric. His cap sits awkwardly on his head, probably cramping the antenna underneath it’s weight combined with the wig.

A pause, his head pops up an odd chill appears on Dib’s skin. Zim’s head swivels around to meet his stare. A couple students blink at natural angle of Zim’s neck and lean away from him.

Amber and purple share a silent staring contest before Dib bares his teeth in a smile and a subtle thumbs up in Zim’s direction. The Invader’s expression doesn't change, mouth thinned into a line and staring in blank, unamused eye contact. Dib keeps his smile and changes his thumbs up to a much ruder gesture he’s certain the alien should be able to recognize. Zim blinks. The corners of his mouth twitch.

A loud, grating noise on the ears interrupts them and all whispers shush as the principal taps on the mic, smiles with too many teeth and begins to call up each student’s name one by one.

* * *

After all the facilities and fake smiles, class pictures and shaking hands, food is offered near the end of the ceremony. Graduates and families alike gather in clumps of people, chattering and congratulating each other, taking selfies with their diploma. Dib doesn’t care too much about accidentally bending his when he tucks it underneath his arm, snags a meat-kabob from the refreshments and books it out of the auditorium.

There’s people around him taking their last tour of the hallways and spewing poetry about the best years of their lives to one another. Dib has to duck in between the crowds to get outside, find his truck in the chaotic parking, and take extra precaution not to run any happy-go-lucky families taking pictures as he backs up and peels out onto the road.

Looking for Zim or Gaz in the middle of the chaos would have been pointless. Knowing them, they’d ditch the first chance they would have gotten too.

The day goes about routine. He goes home, stuffs his gown and cap inside of the closet, tries to wash out the hair gel marinating in his scalp and failing (for the record, it was Gaz’s idea, now he’s starting to think she knew how hard it would be to get rid of it) email a few Swollen Eyeball colleges about the duration of his suspension, and sit at the front of his laptop screen debunking poorly made Cryptid sighting videos until Gaz bangs on his door and calls him down for dinner.

Foodio’s made something special tonight, apparently Dib’s favorite dish, but it doesn’t even register in his mind as he picks at it with his fork nor does he care to note that his ‘favorite’ dish was something he mentioned in passing when he was thirteen. Gaz stuff food into her mouth with one hand and plays on her game slave with the other (an impressive feat when you think about it) while their father, or really, his projection sits at the head of the table without a plate in front of him. Membrane eats on whatever he has on his end of the video, and aside from the occasional commentary on how well cooked the sliced carrots are, dinner is relatively silent.

“So, kids!” Membrane’s voice is only slightly less booming coming from the robot’s speaker, but it still draws their attention up from their plates. “Now, with high school ending, have the two of you thought about what you’re going to do with your lives? Dib, at least.” Membrane was reliably blunt as he is absent. It’s hard to tell if he’s smiling underneath his lab coat. “Gaz, you have another year or two I believe? Do you know what you want to be?”

“Professional gaming.” Gaz is equally as blunt. “As soon as I graduate, I’m tacking my wins and getting paid for it. I’ll be undefeatable.”

“I believe you will! Good to see you’ve figured all that out!” Membrane’s praise sounds rehearsed and routine. Dib is still pushing the peas into the mash potato cave he’s made with his fork when he feels his father’s eyes shift to him. Even through a video screen and hidden behind goggles, there’s something inherently unnerving about his father’s attention, especially when it’s not rarely given. “And what about you, son? Have you given any colleges a good thought? You have your pick of the bunch, you know. They’ll be honored to have a member of the Membrane family as one of their students.”

Dib doesn’t look up from his plate, cheek resting in his hand and picking at the veggies. “I don’t know if I want to go through college.” He thinks for a moment. “At least, not right now.”

“Perfectly understandable! Many scientists in their time did independent studies before ever entering an academic institute. Many famous ones had their biggest discoveries working alone, you know. Just like your old man!” There’s glee in Membrane’s voice, positive and booming as always. He always sounds like an overly excited TV show host, which, made sense considering his father did have his own science show a few years ago. “What do you have in mind for right now?”

Dib’s own voice is barely above a mumble. “Independent studies.”

“Wonderful!” The video feed of Membrane claps his hands together, which sounds awkwardly hollow between his gloves. “What sort of studies? I’m interested to know what you’ll be working on.”

Dib’s fork stops scrapping the plate as he mentally prepares himself. Gaz has stopped playing her Game slave, he can only tell because her thumb isn’t making that clacking noise against that one button she hasn’t fixed when it cracked ages ago.

Inwardly, Dib already knows whats coming. “Parapsychology, cryptozoology and other paranormal sciences. I’m still going to be a Paranormal Investigator.”

An even quieter hush over takes the dinner table. Amber eyes stare into the untouched potion of his food as his appetite weighs down the nausea creeping up from his stomach. Dib can feel the burning combination of his sister and father’s eyes boring into the top of his head.

“I see.” Membrane’s voice has dulled. He can hear the clack of the professor putting down his own eating utensils, folding his hands together as if he was really in the room with them right now. “Have you considered….another career path? You have other options available to you.”

“I know.” Dib’s grip on the fork tightens. “I just want to be a Paranormal Investigator.”

Membrane makes a noise of neutral acknowledgement from his side of the feed. “I understood that part. I’m asking if you’ve considered something perhaps less… _dangerous?_ _”_ He was expecting a protest, but that sentence isn’t quite worded the way he thought it would go. Dib glances up towards the screen and immediately looks back down again when the cold glare of the goggles is all he finds. “You seem to have a knack for getting yourself into all sorts of trouble. It has worried me. I’d be more comfortable if you considered a safer career-”

Dib bites his tongue before opening his mouth, but Gaz is the one that beats him to the punch. “You’re one to talk, dad. Playing with nuclear science and experimentation isn’t what I’d exactly call ‘safe’.” Gaz’s tone isn’t disrespectful, just factual, something they’ve both picked up from their father in manner of speaking.

Still, the video feed flickers in the slightest as Membrane’s attention shifts from son to daughter. “Science can still be done within the comfort of safety, my daughter. Rules and law are put into place to-”

Gaz has a cheek full of meatloaf, talking while chewing as she interrupts. “Pretty sure you haven’t cared about ‘laws’ for nearly two decades now.”

Membrane shuts up pretty quickly. Dib sinks lower into his seat. Gaz simply swallows her food and unpauses her boss fight.

The sound of Membrane clearing his throat. Dib glances up to see his father adjust the lab coat's collar closer to his face, and watched the subtle shift of his gaze fall back onto him before dropping his own eyes back down to his plate. He picks at the leftover peas and carrots, food already cold, not that he had any appetite to care.

“I don’t trust your organization's ability to provide you acquitted equipment and gear to keep yourself safe, should you get yourself into any…situations.” Membrane says. Dib doesn’t know whether to comment that about the subtle remark on his history of misadventure, or that he was currently suspended from doing any missions at the moment anyways. “I’d feel more comfortable with the idea if you used Membrane assets instead.”

Dib looks up from his plate, blinking. “What?”

“I’m saying should she need ever arise for any sort of equipment or transportation, Membrane labs is open to you, son.” His father’s fingers can be heard drumming on the table through the video feed. His father sounds strained. Dib blinks once again, twice even to make sure he’s hearing this correctly. Gaz had one eye open and watching the screen with apparent interest.

“Despite our…disagreement on your life path, I’d be much more comfortable as a father knowing you’d at least be safe. You can use the lab here in the house for whatever gear you may need to craft yourself, as well as any…eh, ‘experiments’ you might need to conduct. As long as some degree of science is involved, and you don’t raise the dead.” Membrane’s tone is a mixture of disappointment, lightheartedness and sincerity, and Dib doesn’t know which one sounds the most concerning.

“And remember, if you should have a change of heart and realize where _real_ science lays, you’ll have a position at Membrane labs waiting for you.” A rehearsed tone of voice. “The offer will always stand.”

Dib’s fork nearly falls from his grip. He has to psychically remind himself to shut his jaw before figuring out his answer, clearing his throat and fidgeting nervously under the stare of his father. “Alright Dad, I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks. For the opportunity, I mean. And the lab stuff.”

The skin underneath his father’s goggles wrinkle in a way that might tell he’d be smiling behind his lab coat. This was…. _not_ what Dib was expecting to hear today. Even Gaz has one eye peeled open towards the screen.

“So! With that cleared up, let’s discuss some other things, shall we?” Membrane’s gusto returns full force. “Have either of you taken an interest in a marriage candidate yet?”

Both siblings outwardly groan, much to their father’s amusement. Dib slumps, pushes his plate towards his sister, who sticks her fork into the leftover meatloaf and stuffs it in her mouth in one gulp. His fingers drum against his pants leg in a nervous motion, mind running to further thoughts as Gaz tries to deflect the conversation somewhere less embarrassing.

* * *

Eventually their father takes the vague and deflecting answers as satisfactory, bids them a good evening and ends the video feed. It’ll probably be another couple of days to a week until they hear from him again, but this was the first time they’ve all eaten dinner together (sorta) in nearly a year. It’s not ideal, but Dib doesn’t linger on it as he puts away the dishes and Gaz reclaims the living room couch and plays something loud and gruesome.

The both of them slump against the couch, leaning on opposite ends of the armrest with their feet tangled because it’s been one of ‘those days’ where Gaz is tolerant enough not to kill her brother should he breathe the same space as her, and Dib isn’t really feeling up to the role of being shut inside his room alone for the night. She’s playing something violent, some game that Dib doesn’t remember of but watches contently as her player character slices through zombies with a flaming chainsaw.

Everytime she takes a hit near death, Dib can feel the heel of her foot kick his knee but he doesn’t say anything, just slumps against the cushion and lets the exhaustion of the day wash over him. Eventually, the flashing lights and the dimness of the living room become a blurred mess, the screaming sound effects a background noise and Dib drifts off.

He wakes up to silence and the feeling of something scratching at his scalp. Dib peeks open one tired eye. Zim’s upside down face glowers down at him in the dark, claws dragging along his hairline.

Zim does not remove his hand, even as Dib opens both eyes to squint at him. “Your hair feels stiffer than normal.”

Dib blinks the sleepiness from his eyes. “Hair gel.”

“I hate it.”

The human swats the space above his forehead and the feeling disappears. Groaning, Dib raises his head and massages the crick in his neck, rolling his neck and shoulders as he sits forwards. He yawns as he inspects the room. Gaz was asleep, game paused and slumped against the opposite armrest in a similar position he was. Judging by the dark skies and barely illuminating street lamps outside, it was probably late night, if not early morning. The living room door was wide open.

Dib pushes his palms underneath his glasses and rubs his eyes, the feeling of a headache echoing in the back of his mind. Really, he’s not at all surprised nor is he upset, but he says it anyway.“You’re breaking and entering.”

Zim steps away, moving to stand in between the couch and the TV with a glare. “Zim broke nothing. Your door was left unlocked. I’ve come to pay a visit because _someone_ didn’t arrive when they agreed they would.” He tilts his chin up haughty. Surprisingly enough, the volume of his voice is kept low. “I am not a patient Irken, stinky.”

Dib rubs the bags underneath his eyes and matches Zim’s stare with his own. The Invader looked eerie with the TV’s light on his face in the dark room, eyes too saturated to be humanly natural. He thinks about scolding the alien before inwardly settling that maybe it’s enough to be grateful that Zim used the door this time instead of a window. Dib waves him off, stretching his arms out (he may or may not have purposely smacked Zim in the stomach in the process and received a heated glare for the action) before standing up and waving him off. “Right, right, I’m coming, just give me a second.”

He brushes past the alien to kneel down next to the couch next to Gaz. Dib briefly considers waking her up himself before deciding that was a for certain death wish, and instead gently presses the end of his T-shirt to her cheek to wipe off the littlest bit of drool peeking out there.

“Gross.” Out of the corner of his eye, a Pak leg extends across the room to shut the open door before retracting, and Zim makes a quiet hmm over his shoulder. Zim’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet. “What’s it like?”

Dib is carefully, gently trying to pry his sister’s fingers away from the controller locked in a dead grip in her hands when he turns his head to glance at him. “What? What’s what like?”

“Having a litter-mate.” Zim says. Dib cocks an eyebrow at him, so he appears to think for a moment. “A sibling.”

What an odd question. Not something he was expecting the alien to ask but hey, the Invader’s been surprising him with a lot of things recently. Dib makes a noise of acknowledgement, swiveling around and pressing a few buttons on the controller to find Gaz’s save slot in her current play through. “I can’t give you a universal answer. It’s different for everyone. Some people really love their siblings, some don’t.” He finds a save file he’s pretty sure is hers, locks her progress and closes out of the game. “Little sisters can really stress you out and destroy your life if you’re not careful enough.”

Zim makes a noise akin to a snort if he had a nose. “Why keep them around then? What’s the importance?”

Dib turns off the PS4, turns back around and very carefully, attempts to slide the headset off of Gaz’s head. “Why keep Gir around, then?”

Zim’s eyes narrow at him, but he says nothing further.

Headset to the side, Dib looks to the stairs. It wasn’t good for her to be sleeping on the couch, and he could pick her up no problem, but getting her up the stairs without waking her would be a task full of focus and just might end in his demise if he accidentally ends up konking her head against a door frame just trying to carry her to bed. He could always just grab a blanket, toss it over her like a coroner and that’s that.

Something presses against his shoulder and Dib is gently shoved to the side, stumbling a foot or so back. He blinks, glaring at the ‘assailant’ but saying nothing. Zim shoots him a a half-sideways glance, slipping his arms underneath Gaz’s legs and shoulders, and pulling her up from the couch. “…I don’t know which room is hers.”

Dib blinks at the sight of an alien Invader holding his sleeping little sister and figures, if anyone was going to handle that ticking time bomb, better Zim than him. “I’ll show you.”

He gestures towards the stairs and does his best to walk up them without hitting that one step that always creaks too loudly when you get to it. From the top, he waits and watches as Zim adjusts Gaz so her head is leaning against his chest (a little bit of drool is peeking out of her mouth and Dib wonders how hard the alien might be hiding his disgust), gives the stairs a quiet look before Pak legs extend from his back. They’re slow and careful not to hit the ceiling, Zim raises himself up over the stairs onto the top step, retracts the Pak legs and looks at Dib expectantly. Well, that’s one way to have a smoother trip.

“Here.” Dib guides him to the first room on the left, a door with Gothic stickers and gaming posters plastered on the front. “Don’t worry about the stuffed animals. Just lay her down.”

Zim gives him an incredulous look of confusion, but walks past him anyways. Dib watches him get three, maybe four steps inside before the alien freezes at all the tiny, beady glowing eyes in the dark starting at him. Teddy bears and bunnies with half robotic faces and bodies sat up on shelves, spinning their heads around in creaking, unnatural motions. One in particular moves forward a few inches at the sight of Gaz and Zim, sharp metal teeth poking out from it’s muzzle.

Zim glares at it in alarm, and after a few seconds of nothing happening, slowly moves to lay Gaz down on her bed. “She built all this?”

Dib moves beside him to pull the covers up over her. He brings it up to her chin, hearing the animal guards retract back into their positions though still keeping watch, and backs to the door. “Mostly.”

“Morbid.” Zim meets him at the door and waits behind him as Dib clicks it shut. “The both of you have such twisted ideas of invention and entertainment. I suppose that’s a side effect of having a litter-mate.”

Dib shoots him a glare. “You’ve literally attempted mass genocide on my planet.”

“And one day, Zim will complete that mission. If I’m feeling merciful, I’ll let you watch your planet burn from space.” Zim’s mouth turns up into a sinister grin if anything just to get on Dib’s nerves. He turns on his heel, voice reaching usual volume and waving over his shoulder for Dib to hurry. “Now move your worm legs! We have wasted enough time as it is and the ship is nearing completion!”

* * *

Said ship was, in fact, finished. It just needed a little bit of polish here and there. ‘Polish’ being some items and features that while weren’t actually needed for Dib’s prolonged survival in the vast vacuum of space travel, would surely account to his comfort. Explaining toiletries to an alien that maybe uses only dry soap as a cleanser isn’t the finest way Dib would spend his time, and he could do without the initial embarrassment too. But threatening Zim with idea of having a ‘stinky, disgusting, filthy human on his ship reeking up the place’ was funny reaction to watch.

It was actually pretty fun to build. The ship was, although small in nature, fully capable of housing Zim, Dib (and Gir, by default) for a dependable period of time, given as long as they had enough food, fuel, and patience to deal with one another.

Tak’s ship was dragged from Dib’s shed in the dead of night and dismantled at Zim’s base. The Invader claimed that the ship had all the Irken components needed for upgrading the initial Voot, but a few unimportant parts still took time to be fabricated from the alien’s lab. Zim was a fast worker, Dib realized, which shouldn’t come as a surprise given that the alien has supposedly been inventing and building mass doom machines since he was nothing more than an infant smeet. It’s almost jealously worthy, watching the alien meld together metal in second and installing new panels with the experience of someone who’s been doing it for two decades. Dib doesn’t have a Pak with an assortment of tools and blowtorches attached to him, however, so Zim throws a tool box at his head and tells him to make himself useful.

There are three room in the Voot, (Voot 2.0 now, as Zim likes to call it) with sliding door with a indented handle separating the three of them. The cockpit was significantly enlarged, with the two pilot seats sitting at the dash and the rest of the room’s components behind it. Dib knew that Zim already had drawers inbeddded in the walls in the previous edition of the Voot, but the storage was increased. There wasn’t a single space on the wall that didn’t have some sort of seam indicated that there was something hidden inside, and whether or not it was tools, Gir’s toys or refrigerated food really depended on how lucky you felt prying them out. Dib makes a mental note to get stickers to label everything later.

One wall has two pods next to each other. A spacesuit recharging station that used to reside in the wall now brought out to the front to make space. The suit was completely of Irken aesthetic and appeared to adhere to Zim’s exact fit, so there’s a doubt that Dib would ever have the chance of trying it on. Still, it’s nice to look at.

Besides the recharging station is another pod. Something long with straps within the center, though it looks like a small flat surface can be pulled out from the middle. Sticking his hand in it feels like jelly enclosing around his skin, and a tingly sensation crawling up into his fingernails. It’s a weird static feeling, the kind you get when you let a limb sleep for too long, but not a bad sensation. Dib kept his hand in there once long enough out of morbid curiosity until Zim yanked him back by his collar and yelled vulgar at him something about ‘confusing the system’. A healing pod, he said, and he left it at that.

The next two rooms were small, understandably so, but big enough that Dib didn’t need to hunch when he walked inside. The ‘bedroom’ (if one could even call it that) was plain and simple; two mattresses stacked on top of each other with sheets, covers and pillows, and Gir’s dog bed that’s been settled in the corner. Zim didn't need to sleep, so there was only preparations made for Dib's single bed. There’s no windows or any sort of decoration, so he grabs the ugly bee lamp from Zim’s living room, installs it in the ship when the alien has his back turned and even plastered some cheap, cryptid and moth man posters on the metal walls to boot.

The bathroom is boring but functional. It looks like something straight torn from a small-living magazine, (which, knowing Zim, is probably where he got the ideas from). The counter housed a sink, the bathtub looked like a normal, human bathtub with a shower attached, and the toilet looked like it was stolen straight from a housing store, cleaned to the nines and attached to the wall. All water was recycled, waste and trash was shot out into the vacuum of space and it was not uncommon to find Gir sitting in a full tub playing with assortment of pig toys and that one specific Nemo toy that he refuses to let Zim wash. Medical supplies were kept underneath the cabinet, as well as a short supply of hormones should the trip last long enough for Dib to miss his dose. He never mentioned anything about it prior, and questioning Zim leads to nowhere except for the alien grumbling something about his sister telling him, so Dib leaves it be.

Zim is scuttling over outside the ship, Pak legs out and checking on the melded parts and the defense systems when Dib hops out of the Voot back in the hangar. Stepping back, and careful to not to step onto the Gir stuffing some sort of lazor tool into his mouth, Dib overlooks the ship. Bit of purple and reddish pink, aged metal in some areas while other parts looked brand new. Though it didn’t look it, it was safe. It was scrappy looking, kinda ugly actually now that he’s getting a full picture of it, but a smile inches on his face regardless.

Zim’s head pops out from the other side of the ship, antenna wiggling. “What’s with the stupid ugly look on your face?”

Dib’s gaze travels from ship to alien, smile never leaving. “Shut up, scum.”

Zim huffs, though there’s no hostility in his action. Pak legs scuttle across the reach of the ship until he lands besides Dib, retracting his legs and facing the finished creation. “I believe the Voot is finished, for now at least. There’s still a few things I’d like to add onto in the future. But for now, it’s capable of supporting one stinky human for a few months in space travel.”

Dib cocks an eyebrow, sending him a glance. “A few months?”

Zim matches Dib’s look with his own, crossing his arms. “Don’t worry, stink-beast. Your pathetic planet will still be here when you get back. The monthly time frame is the extent of rations and oxygen the Voot would be able to carry without refueling. We’ll reach the planet Schnnopolis two days out from your solar system, stay our time and travel another two days back. We’ll be gone for a week, tops.”

Ah yes, that weird sounding planet that Zim has yet to really tell anything to Dib about.“Oh, good. I don’t think I could survive you for more than a week straight.” Dib grins. An antenna flies down and smacks him just barely on the ear. “Ow. Okay, kidding! I’m actually really excited to go, geeze.” Dib deflects a stray antenna with his palm and snorts when the touch causes the alien to shudder, baring teeth at the human in disgust.

“As you should be! Look at all this handwork and labor!” Zim makes a outwards gesture to the Voot. “Zim has made such unnecessary modifications for his human that no Irken should ever have to worry about. All of this-!” He does a waving, erratic arm motion. “For one smelly human!”

Okay, completely ignoring the possessive grammar in Zim’s sentence, (an odd thing that was steadily reoccurring as time passed, and he really didn’t know what to make of it nor if he should give any thought process to it at all) Dib instead pipes about the obvious. “Hey, I worked on the ship too, and I did a pretty good job!” He adds the last bit when the alien scoffs something about quality. “I kinda need those modifications to live. Humans start to deteriorate after their needs aren’t met.”

Zim laughs at him, loud and obnoxious. “HA! Zim is well aware, you idiot moron. Irkens don’t require such trival things! You don’t even do it properly! That’s why the skin underneath your eye-bits look all PURPLEISH and SAD!” The alien snickers at Dib’s expense and the investigator can feel the tips of his ears grow red. “I laugh at your pathetic attempt to gain sympathy from Zim! GIR! LAUGHTER!”

Said Sir-unit spits out the object he was trying to swallow (A bag that looked suspiciously like the one Dib brought over for snacks), stands to attention to salute, then opens his mouth. A laugh track that sounds like it’s coming straight from a old 70s sitcom bellows out. Both Zim and Dib stare at the robot until the laughter is finished and Gir clamps his mouth shut. Zim nods at him. “Good! I like that one better than the last.”

Dib looks down at the slobbered bag on the floor and resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Listen, I get that I’m not the best at taking care of myself-” The skin on Zim’s forehead that makes place for his eyebrows rise in a show of obvious mockery. “-but we’re not thirteen anymore. I’m working with what we’ve got here and don’t be surprised if I need a little more ‘maintenance’ than you. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have a secondary life-support system attached to me.”

Zim’s jaw goes ridged, points in his cheeks where his tongue moves in his mouth, like mulling over his next words. He opens his mouth, closes it, and whatever comes out next feels watered down. “Ungrateful cretin. You are more work and trouble than you realize you’re worth.”

Dib doesn’t know what to take from that, but he flashes a cocky grin anyways. “Yeah? And I’m _grateful_ , you ugly frog. I’m excited to travel in space with you.” He bumps the Invader’s chest with his fist. “Thank you, Zim.”

With that, Dib turns away to pick up the slobbered bag from the ground. All this work on the ship has fitted his appetite, and the graduation dinner he had with his family wasn’t sitting right with his stomach. He drops it with a cringe when his hand comes up wet, and figures that this might just have to be the daily sacrifice to the almighty entity that was Gir. Still, he needed something to snack on, and maybe pick up some more stuff for the ship while they were out. Zim might be able to live off of fundip and snacks alone, but Dib needed to make sure their stores had something more along the lines of actual meals unless he wanted to be drinking sugar water for a week.

Sighing, Dib watches Gir feast on the contents of his bag and turns back to the alien in the room. “More food and a toothbrush is really all I need left for the trip. Come with me to the store? I know a 24/7 convince store with fundip. I’ll buy.”

He doesn’t receive an answer immediately. Zim is still staring at the ship, face lightened and a weird smile on his face. It doesn’t look dark or sinister like he usually does. There’s something tender about his expression. A little closer, Dib realizes, there is color decorating the skin on his face.

“Hey.” Dib kicks at his ankle. Not hard, but enough to scuff his boots. “What’s with the stupid ugly look on your face?”

Zim blinks, turning towards the human and a half second passes before the alien straightens his posture, turns his chin upwards and huffs. “Wipe that look off your filthy meat skin. You will purchase the dips as repercussion for assaulting Zim!”

* * *

Dib doesn’t pack lightly. Spare clothes, shoes, chargers, extra snacks and water just in case Gir eats everything on ship, a specific space jar, and a few other necessities including a brand new book about the Jersey Devil just so he could kill time in the long hours of space travel. He doesn’t expect Zim to care for his hovering at the dash too much and figured the alien would prefer quiet time just as much as Dib would as long as he allowed it (given that Gir was also preoccupied.) Also, it was a hardback, so it’ll make for a pretty decent wacker if for any reason he needed to squash a certain bug during the flight.

Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he makes down the stairs, past the house’s surveillance bot Membrane put up ages ago and makes it to the front door before he hears Gaz clear her throat. She’s sitting on the couch, game controller in hand as usual, though her hair is pulled back into pins and a spa face mask on her face. She looked kinda like a cucumber and Dib briefly thinks about teasing her for it, but the slight twitch of an eye she gives him at the slightest hint of amusement on his face is enough deterrent. “Where are you going?”

Dib adjusts the bag over his shoulder, sending a subtle glance to the dad-bot peeking out from the kitchen. He could tell the truth without setting off the alarm if he worded it right. Membrane was getting a little suspicious of ‘Dib’s green foreign friend’, particularly the one always involved in dangerous paranormal missions he goes on, and it doesn’t take a genius scientist to assume where Dib meets Zim, danger might follow.

Hopefully, by the power of sibling-ness, Gaz will take the hint. “Friend’s house. I’m gonna stay the night there for a couple of days, maybe a week.”

She squints at him, at least, even more so than she is usually squinting. “You have one friend, and it’s the middle of the night.”

“Yeah.” Dib adjusts the grip on his bag and smiles. “We’re gonna go star gazing. Maybe hiking a little.”

He doesn’t have to explain anything else given by the look on her face. Amber eyes like his own drift to the heavy bag slung around his shoulder and gives Dib a dull look. Gaz sniffs, grumbles a low acknowledgement and turns back to her game. “Bring me back a cool rock.”

In other words, bring her back a space souvenir. Dib nods, yells out the typical ‘Love you, bye’ before pushing the door open with his foot and booking it down the sidewalk before the bot had enough sense to follow him. Better that he leaves his truck here in case his dad comes home, Gaz will cover and say he’s locked himself in his room and Membrane isn’t careful enough to check before sauntering down into his lab. Eventually he’s going to owe her too many favors for these covers, but until then, Dib will play his cards right.

The gnomes’s head creak when they swivel to follow Dib’s path to Zim’s front door, though there’s moss and roots beginning to grow up the side of a few of them from time of no movement and disuse. It’s easy to ignore them, no matter how unnerving the red dots of the eyes still were. Zim told him he would leave the base unlocked for his arrival, Dib has no plans to knock as he walks full stride to the front door, grabs the doorknob, twists and-

-Slams fore-head first into the wood and stumbles backwards on his ass with an ‘oof’. He groans, rubbing the newly sore spot on his forehead, fixing his skewed glasses and blinking the blur out of his vision when he recognizes maniacal laughter and a shadow standing over him. An undisguised Zim, hands on his hips, glowers down with a smile full of mischief.

Dib snarls at him from the ground. “You told me you left the door unlocked!”

“IDIOT BOY. You think Zim is foolish enough to leave his base vulnerable for humans to just waltz in? You of all people should have known better! Plus! I lied!” Zim snickers as he bends down, snatching Dib’s forearm with one hand and the his bag’s strap with the other. The alien picks the both of them up with practically no effort, stumbling Dib to his feet and holding the human’s over sized duffel bag akin to an old lady’s purse. “I was also watching you through the living room window. It’s funny to watch you be so indescribably stupid.”

Honestly, Dib should have seen it coming. Even with that in mind, he can’t help but inwardly groan as he follows the alien into the house, shutting the door behind him and meeting Zim in the middle of the living floor. Any attempt to grab back his duffle bag is met with a half-assed swipe of the claws. “Living with you for a week might just kill me.”

The floor beneath them jolts and a circle cuts out from the floor, rising them upwards into a parting ceiling. Zim scoffs at him. “You will constantly be in the presence of your future RULER and OVERLORD, Zim! The highest honor any inferior lifeforms could ever receive!” He shakes his free fist, yelling to the fast moving walls in the process before waving a hand. “Consider this week a trial version of your future eternal servitude to me and the Irken Empire.”

The rising platform comes to a sudden halt in the hangar and Dib has to focus to stay steady on his feet. “Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t spend the next 50 years of my life making yours hell before I kick the bucket.”

Zim laughs something dry. “I wouldn’t allow it.”

Amber eyes fleet to him and Dib smirks in mockery. “Who says you get a say in the matter?”

An antenna twitches in his direction, a sharp toothed smile flashes at him. “I staked claim to your life long ago.”

“…Creepy.”

“Says the stalker.”

He steps forwards, slings Dib’s bag carelessly into the Voot’s open cockpit (Hey! That had his laptop in there!) and climbs inside easily with the use of his Paklegs while Dib struggles to find a foothold on the front of the ship. A gloved hand sticks in front of his glasses and the investigator briefly considers licking it just to gross out the alien before grabbing his leverage, and Zim hoists him upwards into the ship. “Irk, you’re so slow. It’ll have molted by the time we’d enter Schnnopolis’s orbit at this rate.” Pulled into the ship, Dib watches the windshield close behind him, officially shutting them off from the rest of the planet. “Zim is offended by your lack of enthusiasm for your surprise.”

“You know, it’s be nicer to know a little bit about the planet we’re going to instead of flying off into the dark about it.” Dib rummages through his bag to make sure all the contents are good. One of the granola bars packaging broke and his shirts now had crumbs all over them, but that was the only extent of the damage. “Telling me it’s a ‘surprise’ isn’t that informative.”

Zim punches in a few buttons on the dash, glancing over his shoulder without stopping the motions. “Do you not trust Zim? Can you not allow me the same confidence I give you when you drag me out on one of your _miserable_ adventures?”

His tone is full of mockery and Dib frowns at it, taking his seat besides the Invader in the new pilot seat. It squeaks when he sits down, and he makes sure to grab the seat belt he installed himself and throws it over. “At least tell me what the weather is gonna be like? Plant life? Other aliens?”

A few final buttons are pressed. The outside hangar begins to unfold in the ceiling and there’s a rough jerk as the Voot 2.0 whirs to life and begins to rise into the sky. Slow, careful, not rushed thanks to cover of night shielding the ship from any too-curious on lookers but Dib is pretty sure Zim is taking his sweet time because he knows that Dib isn’t looking to get a concussion today.

Zim leans back in his seat as clouds pass through the windshield and thinks, one claw tapping against his chin. “Cold.” He says. In the back of Dib’s mind, he’s suddenly thankful he had the inkling feeling to pack that extra coat. “Not as cold as your Earth winters get here, but the water on that planet works differently. It has a higher freezing point, so you will see snow. Also, if you drink it, it will most likely turn your skin blue and shut down all of your organs.” Zim tilts his head towards a now glaring Dib and grins. “But you’ll be fine, as long as you don’t consume it.”

“So, what? We’re going just to see some snow?” Dib huddles in his seat a little harder when the ship makes a beeping noise and jerks to tilt slightly upwards, the horizon through the windshield growing darker, away from city lights and through Earth’s atmosphere. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the sight.

“No, stupid. Your surprise isn’t the planet itself, but rather what’s _on_ that planet.” Zim leans forward to punch coordinates in, but doesn’t miss the way Dib cranes forward with interest. “I think you’ll like it.”

Dib blows air out of his nose and slumps further into his seat, an action that’s met with one squired eye by his alien counterpart. “I could tell you whether or not I would if you’d give me some actaul hints as to what we’re even going to be doing.” Zim smacks him in the chest, a light playful smack, but one that still stings against his skin and causes Dib to wince in phantom pains. “ _Hey_ -”

“SILENCE. Zim is in charge of this trip and I demand that I have your full faith and respect as captain of this ship!” A pointed claw finds it’s way to Dib’s nose and lightly presses against the tip. “Your graduation gift is supposed to be a SURPRISE. Meaning no hints! Nothing! I haven’t even told Gir our destination because I know that he might spoil it! So shut your talking hole.”

“….Is there going to be food safe enough for me to eat?”

Zim pinches his earlobe and pulls him forward just to yell louder. “STOP ASKING QUESTIONS!”

Dib plants a hand on the alien’s face and pushes back, spewing a curse but the obnoxious grin on his face says something other than annoyance. Eventually Zim is satisfied with his scolding (after Dib half-assed agrees not to ask anything else, at least not for the next hour) and returns to his coordinates, hands moving in near robotic motions as he drags them over the dash to finalize a few things. The investigator sits in comfortable silence as the Voot begins to speed up, stars rushing past them, watching as the dash lights up in a mirriad of colors and inwardly trying to memorize the patterns Zim was making.

“You know,” Zim speaks once the Voot is in motion, and the stars are flying by too quickly to be anything more than a blur. “For the ‘protector of Earth’, it didn’t take much convincing for you to agree to leave this rotting dirtball. I barely got the idea out before you agreed.”

Dib makes a little hum of acknowledgement. “I need a little vacation. That’s all. Swollen Eyeball suspended us for a while anyways. I’d get bored.”

“How desperate of you.” A shit-eating grin, antenna pointing towards his direction. “To so easily agree to the unknown so you might horde my attention for a week.”

Dib kicks him right in the kneecap, (or, at least where he’s hoping the alien has one) and Zim makes less of a hurt noise and more of an overly offended gasp. “YOU ATTACK ZIM. YOU ATTACK ME WHEN I AM BEING NICE!” Dib snickers and barely touches his shoe to the alien’s leg again and sputters a laughter when said Invader begins to spew insults and curses in Irken, climbs halfway over their linked pilot seats to grab a fist full of Dib’s shirt and spitting into his face. “You wretched worm! Zim will tear out your teeth and let Gir use them for macaroni crafts! SUFFOCATE FOR ALL I CARE!”

“Hey, hey, _HEY_ hold on just-” Dib laughs as Zim grabs the front piece of his hair, yanking it upwards and using it as some sort of leverage to pull the human’s head back so claws pinch his nose and makes his voice sounds like it’s straight out of cartoon. “Will you just! Stop! Quit it- HEY, stop doin- for fucks sake, Zim! You’re so-!”

Zim laughs loudly when the Dib makes an accidental croaking noise, his face red with a mixture of embarrassment as he tries to push the alien off. “WHO’S THE FROG NOW, DIB?”

The laughter cuts short with a ‘ough’ when Dib uses his knee to ram into the alien’s stomach, pushes him onto the floor and wheezes when air fills his lungs and the Invader’s offended expression glares up at him from the tile. “Have a nice trip?”

“Miserable little worm, I’ll tear out your intestines from your mouth-!”

A shrill voice echoes from behind the pilot seats. “Awwww, we wrestling now?!”

Alien and human alike cut short and turn their heads. Gir stands in the living quarter’s doorway, covered in god knows what, slimy substance dripping out of every seam of his little robot body, including flooding from his mouth like drool and spilling out of his head, leaving tracks on the floor from where he came. It takes a moment of deduction (and a whiff of the minty smell) that the mess was most likely a combination of shampoo and toothpaste Dib had packed for the trip mixed with what only can be assumed to be….Nacho cheese?

Regardless, the boys share an equal look of horror as the robot claps his hands, squeals something incoherent and starts running at them full speed. “IwannajoinIwannajoinIwannajoinIwannajoin!”

Dib has enough sense to duck and Zim screams something horrific when the sir-unit makes contact with his face, latching around his head and having him scramble about in the room. “GIR! NO! STOP! RELEASE ZIM THIS INSTANT! ZIM DEMANDS IT! RELEASE ME!”

“I’m gonna make yur head super duper clean!”

“ZIM IS ALREADY AT PEAK CLEANLINESS.”

Dib watches in amusement as the alien stumbles about the cockpit, knocking into walls trying to pry his Sir-unit off of his face. Gir was, at his core, unpredictable and chaotic. Which, in reality wasn’t too far off from his master. Two beings that were destructive at best and downright catastrophic as worst, and Dib is going to spend the next couple of days trapped in a ship with them, onto a unfamiliar planet and repeating the same for the trip back armed with nothing but a few sharp witty replies and the few candy bars he’s snuck into his bag in order to bribe and keep the robot at bay.

Traveling to a planet you know little to nothing about with your former nemesis-turned-bff didn’t exactly sound like the safest plan in the world, but Dib is not one for boredom, and trust him when he says that he has certainly given into much worse.

This is what he needed. _They_ needed. Just a little break from everything. Away from Earth, away from his Dad, away from the ever impending reality that Dib is eventually going to have to figure out his life where it stands. Not forever, this isn’t something that he can run from for the rest of his days, but for now, he didn’t care.

Watching the alien successfully detach Gir from his face, holding him like a doll and shouting Irken at the giggly mess, he wonders if Zim had anything planned in the future where Dib comes up lacking.

Of course, his train of through comes to a break and Dib does not see the flying Sir-unit in all his gooey, disgusting glory flying at his face until he’s knocked back with a wet slap of metal, an abhorrent feeling of Gir getting goop into his hair, and the sound of Zim yelling at him from the sidelines.


	2. Zim Is A Terrible Roommate (Also, Irken Biology)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh my god, they were roommates" trope except they're traveling in a space together and absolutely no one in the ship has any sense of boundaries. Shenanigans include but not limited to: wonky sleep schedules, Gir flushing himself down the toilet, TV dinners being used as a threat, possessions being stolen, and some really awkward conversations of Human vs Irken biology and Culture. There's also a lot of smug Zim. Stupidly smug Zim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so like I said, because I know some people don't actaully read the notes, I'm just gonna keep repeating it here: it gets zadrish. REAL ZaDr style up in this fic and so forth. I'm still gonna write within my comfort bounderies of course but just be aware of that, and always check the notes of these fics. I'm changing the tags and rating of this fic with the update of this chapter because even though I don't write nsfw, there's discussion of anatomy and violence will def happen later. Not really liking how this chapter came out, especially since it took me so long to write, but hey. What can you do?
> 
> NOTE: This chapter includes: non-sexual touching and overall just some content that can be considered heavy flirting (?) Also, discussion of human and Irken biology, and just some descriptive paragraphs of it that you should look out for if you're squeamish about that sort of thing.

Two and a half days, three nights in total. Sixty hours, give or take in an attempt to be more accurate considering that ‘day’ and ‘night’ weren’t exactly a good way to measure the passage of time whilst traveling in space. That’s the amount of time it’s going to take to get to their destination, which mind you, a planet that Zim is keeping Dib in the dark about with vague details and avoidant of any better questioning. That time frame is the span that Dib is going to have to manage living in small quarters with loud, chaotic alien that like to yell at at practically anything and his unpredictable crazy robot minion. And that’s just on the way there, not including the trip back.

Starting from the hour they’ve left planet Earth, Dib could tell that he might have to worry about the ever approaching boredom as well.

Don’t get him wrong. He was, by nature, fascinated by the ever blur of stars rushing past the windshield. The colors and the way the lights trailed at the ends, weaving through the darkness of space was both entrancing yet terrifying in a way that brings back memories. The ship moves too fast, faster than any human made ship and faster than Zim’s voot has in the past, thanks to the alien making improvements on the engine (no doubt upgraded far past it’s it’s original prime thanks to Tak’s ship’s parts) and Dib can’t make out what the little specs that blurs for a second across the windshield could possibly be. Maybe a planet, maybe stars too small to truly appreciate.

Regardless, it’s pretty to watch space fly by and cast lights and colors back onto his face, into the cockpit like a huge projector screen. Hyper-speed space travel doesn’t look how humans make it look in the movies, and far from textbook illustrations. But Dib’s curiosity cannot be sated by colors alone. Leaning back into his own pilot’s seat, Dib props his feet up on the dash and hums a questions. “So, how far away is this mystery planet of ours?”

His response is a heavy shove on his legs and Dib has to upright himself before he falls off his seat when Zim practically kicks his shoes off the dash. “Does your memory malfunction from all that empty head space?” Zim snarks at him, frowning at shoes, but it’s a playful kind of tone Dib hasn’t heard him use for anyone else besides Gir. “Two days, give or take. Assuming we don’t crash into an asteroid and perish in the wreckage.”

“Oh, wow. Comforting.” Dib hums. Zim doesn’t look away from where his hands were typing something into the dash, but his boot finds Dib’s ankle and gives it a kick. “Rude. But that time frame makes it feel like that planet isn’t too far from earth. I didn’t know that there was planet with life on it that close to my solar system.”

“That’s because it’s _not_ close. There isn’t a planet with life on it anywhere near your solar system, not from what my scanners could detect, at least.” Zim corrects him, tilting his head in the slightest to Dib’s direction. Amber eyes flicker to the alien’s claws. It’s impressive, fascinating really that he doesn’t even have to pay attention to what he’s doing when piloting the ship, which given is just a formality considering that auto-pilot was a thing and Zim really just liked to keep his hands busy. Dib looks up and Zim continues only when he has the human’s gaze again. “We’re traveling few galaxies over. Quite a few, actually.”

“…Just how fast are we going, exactly?”

Zim grins a smile that Dib recognizes instantly full of Irken pride. “Faster than any of your pathetic earth technically would ever be capable of.”

Dib makes a noise of acknowledgement, propping his elbows up on the dash much to Zim’s chagrin and gazing back out of the windshield. “So if this planet is far away, but it only takes about two days to get there and back thanks to your-” He uses lowers two fingers to emphasize his sarcasm. “ _Superior_ Irken technology, then how long would it take to get to Irk?”

The working motions of Zim’s hands stop and he turns fully to face Dib with an unreadable expression. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just wondering.” Dib shrugs. “You know, since you talk about bringing me with you as your ‘slave’ and what not.”

A moment of pause and amber eyes swing from space back to the Invader, who’s been staring thoughtfully at the human’s cheek for a moment with a scrunched expression. Dib reads into Zim’s face, the way that his brow bone lowers and there’s the slightest line in the corner of his mouth bordering on a frown. Despite the observation, the alien doesn’t say anything about Dib’s inspection and hesitates before speaking again, turning away and keeping his focus back on the dash. “I don’t know.”

Dib raises an eyebrow. He opens his mouth to question but Zim beats him to it. “Six months is what it took originally the first time. That was when the Voot was in it’s previous state. Now that it’s upgraded, it would take shorter time to get there. Maybe.” Zim speaks only slightly quickly. “Zim has yet to check it.”

“Huh.” Dib inwardly debates between pushing more on the Irken’s home planet as curiosity bubbles within. Though, Zim’s hands have stopped fidgeting with the dash and now sit dormant on the buttons, red eyes fluttering over the numbers in a way that only Zim can pass off as attentive and not avoidant, and Dib decides against it. “Six months? You were in a tiny ship all by yourself for six months?”

“I wasn’t by myself, idiot.” Zim’s chin tilts up just the slightest, though his face seems to flatten as if remembering a less-than-pleasant memory. “I had Gir with me, obviously. The entire trip was…less than ideal.” Zim lowers his voice his Dib shoots him a questioning look. “Gir likes to sing-”

“KARAOKE TIME?”

A shrill, high pitched voice sounds right from Dib’s ear and the human all but jolts in his seat, sputtering to the floor from the sudden pain as Zim’s face suddenly turns horrified. “NO, Gir! No. We are NOT doing karaoke!” The alien hisses something low in Irken that’s clearly meant only for Gir to hear, followed by another plea. “Your singing is BAD, Gir.”

Said Sir-unit’s excited face falls into something comically sad, with small beads of tears at the bottom of his eyes and all. Dib still doesn’t know how a robot could ever manage such a feat but his right ear is aching too much to even care about that. Gir lets out a whine, a screeching, toddler-esc whine that last for a full three seconds long and echos in the ship’s cabin (it’s really weird, the walls being made of metal gave his voice such a reverb effect and it only hurt their hearing more) before tumbling forwards into Dib’s empty pilot seat and sitting proper.

Gir claps his hands together and looks up to Zim like he didn’t just have a three-second temper-tantrum. “What about musical poetry?”

Zim blanches at him, fear in his eyes. Whatever Gir did during their first trip to earth, it was evident that Zim did not want it to happen again. “Wha-? NO! No! No musical poetry! No singing! No dancing!”

Dib groans as he stands, using the pilot’s seat armrest to lift himself up and resisting the urge to snort when Gir drops his head at his master’s apparent hatred of the arts. Gir sniffs, (again, an odd feat, considering the lack of nose) and looks up at the Invader with what Dib could only describe as the sir-unit equivalent of puppy eyes. “No dancing? N-not even…. _one_ dance…?”

Zim opens his mouth to protest but stops short. Gir looks at the two of them with comically large eyes, bright and brimming with tears, bottom lip quivering in a way that, once again, shouldn’t be possible. Dib blows an amused huff of air out of his nose when he watches Zim deflate, outwardly groan, and drag his claws down his face bringing the skin with it. He brings up one claw, pointing it at Gir. “You may dance. _Once_!”

The sad look on Gir’s face disappears immediately, hopping to his feet and furiously dancing to his own beat boxing skills.

The alien slinks down in his seat, obviously the required audience for such a show. Zim’s eyes meet Dib in exasperation and the investigator gives a amused grin and peace sign before backing away. He doesn’t miss the invader’s mumbling under his breath as he retreats from his stolen pilot seat to busy himself somewhere else in the ship. He’ll bother Zim again when Gir’s concert is over.

The ship’s cockpit was roomy and spacious, with metal walls of different colors and drawers hidden inside of them. Dib goes over his handiwork as he passes to the bedroom. Seams in the walls, barely noticeable unless you knew where to look, some of which he installed himself, held different tools and other items. Some of them were refrigerated, holding mostly water and TV dinners. There were other foods in there too, but it was mostly easy, quick fixes that Dib could pop into the part of the wall that functioned as a microwave (remind him later to question Zim how the wiring for all of that worked) and eat as is. It’s no where luxurious, but it’s better than eating granola bars for a week.

Dib spies the outlet on the wall, cords trailing to the healing pod and armor suit station. Before the armor suit would recharge inside of the Voot’s walls, but it was brought out to make room for other things. A familiar looking mask, crudely made and with memories attach sits inside the draw adjustment of the healing pod. Dib reaches out to brush his hand over it. It wasn’t attached to anything, useless now, with bits of wiring still sticking out at the ends. It’s nice now that the Voot was set up to properly house a human for once, and while Dib isn’t entirely faithful in his past experiences in the ship, it was comforting to know that his chances of suffocating or passing out due to oxygen deprivation was little to none. Still, it’s funny that Zim kept it. He puts it back inside the drawer and pushes it shut.

He can feel eyes watching his every movement. Dib spares a glance behind him, one foot stepped inside the sleeping quarters. Zim glares at him curiously, though his gaze is stolen rather quickly once Gir realizes that his master’s attention isn’t on him and flings himself onto the alien’s face. Dib leaves the now yelling duo in the cockpit before he could become another victim of Gir’s antics.

The door slides closed behind him and Dib tries to lock it through muscle memory alone, only to remember that none of the doors in the ship had that capability. The doors were thin, bare minimal to separate the rooms from each other but it did the job well enough, even if he could still hear the muffled beat-boxing from the other side. He sighs, lets his hand fall and turns to face the bedroom. Well, what could be considered the bedroom. It wasn’t grandor by any means, nothing on this ship was, but all a human really needed to sleep was a soft surface and two mattresses stacked on top of each other with comforters and pillows might be as good as Dib gets until he can figure out a better budget for their scrappy spaceship.

His duffle bag is slumped unceremoniously to the side. He rummages through it, pulling out his laptop and finding a nice spot in the middle of the bed, pillow propped up against the metal wall and opens it. No WiFi signal, that’s not a surprise. It would be a little ridiculous to expect otherwise, who knows how far they are from Earth’s satellites. Still, Dib is smart enough to have downloaded a few movies and other things before their departure, so he wasn’t lacking in the entertainment department as long as he could stop being picky enough to decide which movie he planned on rewatching for possibly the fourth time running.

Dib gets maybe half an hour into a particular movie documentary about alien abductions in history before getting too irritated at the lack of accuracy, shutting the laptop off, setting it to the side and inwardly cursing Zim for ruining his ability to enjoy any sort of media about extraterrestrials without being able to mostly debunk everything. Dib yawns, stretching to the ceiling. It was around midnight when they left Earth, so far past time where a human should be sleeping. There’s a quietness about the ship, and Dib realizes he can’t hear any more beat boxing from the cock-pit.

He slips from the bed and steps to the door, sliding it open just a crack and peering inside. Zim is still sitting in his pilot seat and swiveled to face Gir fully, who seems to be in the midst of some ballet of a sort. While the robot was in the midst of his still only ‘one’ dance, Dib peers to sir-unit’s ‘audience’.

At first glance, the Invader’s face is stoic and even low. He’s staring at Gir but there’s something about his eyes that feel more like he’s not really paying attention to the dancing. Just sitting there, zoned out, silent and lost in thoughts. Dib narrows his eyes at the way the alien’s fingers twitch resting in his lap. There was something off about it. He pushes the door open a little further-

Any attempt at being sneaky is immediately thwarted when Zim’s antenna twitches, tired eyes switching from robot to human. Irritation is coated heavy in Zim’s face, though the only verbal cue for it is the low grumble his makes as he slinks lower into his seat as Gir begins to twirl.

“I’m going to sleep.” Dib tries hard not to smile at Zim’s expense, even though seeing the Invader in such exasperation was kinda funny. “G’night.”

Red eyes flicker in confusion, Zim squints at him and Gir whines the second he realizes his master’s gaze has fallen from him. “There’s…no night here?”

“It’s just an expression.” Dib tries to explain. He’s used to saying it every night to Gaz, and for some reason the routine came naturally to say it to Zim too. “I’m just letting you know that I’m going to bed?”

“And you’re telling Zim this why?” Zim questions. “If I wanted to know whether or not you were unconscious, I would have peeked in and seen your fat ugly head in sleep.” He does a little waving gesture with his hand, chin tilted upwards. “Sleep then. Shoo. Do not bother Zim with such trivial information. I have MUCH better things to do.”

Dib cocks an eyebrow and glances down towards a frozen frame Gir, one tiny robot leg stuck in the air ready to finish his big performance. “…Right.”

“Zim is piloting the ship, you ugly moron.”

Again, the ship was clearly on autopilot. “Ok, whatever.” Dib points a finger at him, full of warning and not for show. “Experiment on me in my sleep and I will make it my personal mission to make this week the most hellish, worst week you’ll ever experience in your stupid alien lizard life.”

Zim follows him up with an insult even as Dib turns and slides the door behind him. “Any time in your presence is miserable!” He drawls out the last of his sentence, muffled by the wall but Dib can still hear the hint of playful mockery in his tone. “And you STINK!”

Dib ignores that, flops on the bed (a regretful decision, as it’s not exactly the softest once you get past the initial two cushions) and twists to face upwards. Fake, cheap stars decorate the ceiling, some sticky ones he initially let Gir throw up there during the build of the ship once Zim told him they didn’t have the right glass material to put a window in the bedroom. No biggie. Dib splays his arm to the side, finds the space jar sitting where he left it and shakes it with one hand, letting it sit again. It creates the same affect, lights and colors like always, and one that’s easier to sleep to rather than plain darkness.

Leftover thoughts seep through as he closes his eyes and tries to sleep. Now that he thinks of it, he hasn’t caught Zim disassociating for a long time.

He knew that he did it. Dib has far too much experience with the matter not to recognize the signs, and memories of a cracked plate and discussions over french waffles permanently embedded the face the Invader gets into his brain. There have been other times here and there where he’s witnessed it, but Dib knows better than to call him out on it. More than likely, it happened behind closed doors, because Zim was careful, as much as Dib hated to admit it. He was pretty skilled at hiding things. Also, lying. He’s had years to perfect the practice.

He had an inkling of a feeling that Zim would rather ignore the problem, and wouldn’t take too strongly to Dib poking his nose in places he shouldn’t be. Especially if that problem housed itself in the alien’s Pak.

Eyes closed, Dib’s fingers grip the space jar and bring it to his chest, brow furrowing. Zim said that night that his Pak’s errors were the equivalent of Dib’s own nightmares, but what does that mean for an alien race that doesn’t sleep? What does it mean when you’re secondary brain can’t sync up with the biological one? And why does Zim refuse to talk about these things? It was irritating. It was unfair. The alien knew too much about Dib than he could say he’d normally be comfortable with but when it came down to the Invader’s own mind, he was pulling at scraps.

….Regardless of the fact, they were going to be stuck together for at least a week, which gave Dib plenty of time and opportunity to wear him down and get some answers in a place where Zim couldn't avoid it.

(So, yes, _technically_ Dib did agree to the space trip to horde all of Zim’s time, but he’d rather be caught dead before he ever phrased it like that.)

A small thunk resounds from the wall, sounding like something being thrown. Or possibly just dancing too hard. Zim’s voice yells out from the cock-pit. Dib buries himself in the covers, tells himself that he’ll save the investigation mindset for tomorrow morning (or whatever time he wakes up) and blocks out the rest of the noise.

* * *

Voices flutter in his dreams and Dib groans, sleep fading quickly and awareness coming in unwelcome. Something was waking him up, and he’s not too happy about it considering he can feel he’s only be asleep for merely a few hours, so a nap at best. Still, he takes the pillow he’s resting on and throws it over his face, grumbling and cursing whoever decided to make such a racket-

A hard _jolt_ of the ship. The bed shifts a few inches and takes a suddenly alarmed Dib with it. He can hear his laptop skidding across the carpet a few feet, and yelling coming from the cock-pit. Dib pauses. It may not be entirely wise, considering who knows what kind of dangers are out in the vast expanse of space, but it’s been a rude awakening and he’s still half asleep, so after a moment of silence and no alarms blaring, Dib clutches the pillow harder over his head and does his damnest to block out the outside world.

Any and all attempts to fall back into slumber dissipate at the sound of the door being roughly pushed open. Zim’s voice is hushed yet yelling, in a way that only he can do. “ _GIR!_ ”

No response. Hasty footsteps circle the room, another door is opened, possibly the bathroom, and he can hear Zim pacing in there, opening and closing cabinets and shoving the shower curtain aside before letting out a string of Irken curses and stomping back into the bedroom. Something is unzipped and cloth is thrown to the side.

Dib doesn’t bother to appear awake, whether or not Zim can tell he doesn’t care. Just pushes back into the mattress and pretends that there wasn’t a alien currently rummaging through his luggage at the moment. It works, at first at least, until said alien grumbles something incoherent and footsteps approach the bed. Dib awaits for some unruly slap to the face or some other rude awaking, but nothing comes.

Alarm rises when claws slowly peel the comforter back to his hips, pause, and grab the hem of his t-shirt. Dib blames his slow reaction on his sleepiness and merely tenses up as Zim roughly pulls up his shirt, and curses something in Irken. “GIR! This is not the place for your stupid hide-and-seek games!”

Dib is now fully awake and _uncomfortably aware_ of the pressure wrapped around his mid-section. “Shhhhh, the baby is sleeping-”

Dib raises the pillow just high enough to see Zim all but snatch Gir by the back of his neck, detaching him from his stomach and letting the sir-unit dangle in the air as he bellowed at him. “SILENCE! Zim could not find you for the last hour!” He shakes the robot by the neck (Gir laughs at the motions, legs kicking and scream giggling) “I had to stop the ship because I thought you had crawled out of the airlock and was left smchillions of light years behind!”

Gir’s mid-section swivels like a rolly as he rocks. “Awww, I was making friends with the belly button!”

“There will be no BELLY BUTTON friendships on my ship!” Zim’s voice grates when he yells, then falls neutral and let’s Gir drop to the mattress. “Now go eat your waffle sticks. I put Earth mayonnaise on them.”

“Mayoo!-” Gir runs straight ahead in the wall, bounces off onto his back, flips upright right and then successfully makes it through the door into the cock-pit “-naise!”

Zim watches the robot run, listens for the tell-tell sound of slurping and then looks downwards. Dib blinks blearily up at him, hair disheveled and face flushed from sleep. The human frowns, pulling the comforter back up and the pillow down to cover his face fully, sinking back into the mattress and inwardly hoping that Zim will get the hint and bugger off somewhere else.

Instead, the mattress squeaks as a weight presses into the side of the bed and claws hook around the pillow, lift it up slightly, and a sharp mocking grin appears a few inches from his face. Dib frowns at the proximity, and it only makes Zim snide. “Good _morning_ , Earthboy.”

Dib blows air into his eyes. “Fuck off.”

Antenna fall back against his skull as Zim leans back, shaking the uncomfortable feeling out of his face. When he comes to, he glares down at the lump of flesh and blankets that made up Dib Membrane. “Zim is polite enough to tell you the human tradition of having a ‘good morning’ despite no morning, and this is the thanks I get? Attacked by your rotting breath?” The lines in his face wrinkle as if to mimic scrunching up a nose if he had one. “You’re stinky.”

Funny, Dib didn’t even feel that gross, meaning that either he was more asleep than he thought or Zim was complaining for the theatrics. Regardless, Dib sits up in the process, bumping his knee against the alien’s knee where Zim leveraged over the bed and makes the universal ‘come closer’ gesture with his finger. Zim squints at him, but lowers his head all the same. Regret washes over his face as Dib sucks in a deep breath and blows air directly onto the alien’s antenna.

Zim hits him with the pillow. “You are DISGUSTING. FILTHY.” Smack. Dib doesn’t bother fighting back, though there’s a amused smile of his own on his face. He’s smacked for the offense of that too. “Go clean up and do your proper cleaning ritual before you poison me with your GROSSNESS.”

“Wha- hey.” Something catches Dib’s eye, and he has to use both hands to catch the pillow, hold it in place and squint at Zim’s attire to double check. “Are you….Are those my sweatpants?”

Zim pauses in his attack, glancing down at himself. The black sweater he adorned was familiar, but it was the black baggy sweatpants that seemed out of place rather than the Invader’s normal uniform. Dib raises a brow, and Zim tilts his chin upwards. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Zim is not wearing your pants.”

“I’m literally looking at them.”

A pillow slams hard into his face. “YOU LIE. _LIES_!” Dib fixes his vision, blinks the feathers out of his face just to see Zim stalk off haughty in the doorway. “And you’re not getting it back.”

The door slides shut and a few moments later, the ship jolts heavy, signifying it’s back on it’s course. Dib sighs, palms for his glasses on the end table and adjusts them with a sniff.

So far, he’s been rudely awoken and his stuff has already been stolen. Two points added to the ‘Zim is a terrible roommate’ score list.

Dragging himself to the bathroom is a harder task than he thought it would be. His muscles felt sluggish and there was the ever lingering urge to crawl back underneath the covers and forget that this ‘morning’ ever even happened. Still, a nice, clean shower was inviting and Dib is quick to fumble with the bathroom door, groan when he remembers it doesn’t have a lock, undress and step into the hot water. Real hot water, actually. Clean and purified too. If there was one thing that he could be grateful for, it was Zim’s germaphobia and hatred for pollution. He could probably drink this water if he wanted to, but he settles for just standing and soaking up the steam instead.

The shampoo he brings is the tiny, travel sized bottles you can grab at the gas station, and Dib mindlessly works it through his hair as he mulls over other things. So, think. What information did he have so far on the planet they were going to? It was cold, he knew that, and the natural water on that planet was toxic to humans, so no swimming there. Was it acidic to Dib the same way Earth’s water was acidic to Irkens? That’s little to go by. Zilch. Nothing. It’s hard to prepare for a planet when your host doubling as a tour guide is a Irken far too obsessed with the element of surprise, and Dib is much too eager to put his trust into someone that once tried to kill him.

The planet is _cold._ There’s that. It’s all he has. Dib is pretty sure he packed extra layers and a beanie in his duffle, so at least he won’t freeze to death when they get there, believing what Zim says is true about the planet’s nature. He’s also going to go ahead and assume that the planet’s atmosphere must be similar to Earth’s, or at least has enough non-toxic oxygen for Zim not to mention anything about needing a mask or respirator.

So what does that leave for Dib to figure out? Plants? Other aliens? Maybe dangerous, cruel otherworldly animal life that will most likely try to eat them? An intergalactic taco restaurant? (That last one didn’t sound too far off, actually)

“You’ll like whats _on_ the planet, he says.” Dib grumbles to no one, too busy washing the last of the suds off that he doesn’t hear the bathroom door slide open. “ _On_ the planet. What is even on the planet? Why is Zim so confident I’ll like it anyways?”

The shower curtain is roughly yanked to the side. Dib freezes, wide eyed like a deer in the headlights and Zim deadpans at him. “Gir got himself covered in syrup and mayo. Hurry up so I can give him a bath before he tracks it all over the ship-”

Three things happen in quick succession; Dib yelps, yanks the curtain awkwardly closer to himself, grabs the nearest object (the cheap, half-full travel sized shampoo bottle) and chucks it at Zim’s forehead with enough panicked-induced force it no doubtingly leaves a harsh mark when it hits Zim’s forehead with a plastic _BONK._

The alien scrambles back in shock until his back his the counter, flinching in pain and flailing his arms at the sudden attack. “What! WHAT! Why are we yelling?! Why are you screaming?!” A second bonk. Dib has thrown the conditioner and it wacks Zim in the middle of his face. “STOP HITTING ME!”

Dib reaches behind him and desperately grasps for anything else. “Get out! GET OUT!”

“Wha- This is _my_ ship! You can’t just tell Zim to leave! I’ll go where I plea-!” A bar of soap flings towards Zim and the alien ducks just in time for the bar to clack against the mirror instead. Water sloshes over the bathroom floor as Dib keeps the curtain on himself, grabbing the last item nearby as fear enters the Invader’s eyes. “FINE! Fine! Coward! I’m leaving! I hope you drown-!”

The alien screeches a high pitched sound. One step backwards and the alien’s foot slips on the water, shock on his face as he falls back and his Pak makes a metal clanking noise when it impacts the tile. Dib’s panic grows as Zim wails from the floor. “ZIM HAS _FALLEN!_ ”

Dib’s hand finds purchase on something that squeaks in his palm-one of Gir’s rubber piggy toys-and the alien can do nothing but scuttle backwards in fear until his Pak hits the counters as the human whips his arm back to throw. “You creepy, fucking weird ass-!” He chucks it, aiming for the head. “ALIEN FREAK.”

To his abrupt horror, Zim deflects it, batting the rubber piggy out of the air like a cat, bouncing it off the wall with a squeak and into the toilet. “You dare attack me? IN MY OWN VOOT?! I don’t care about your idiotic flesh or it’s rituals!” The Invader quickly attempts to rise to his feet, confusion turning to rage in his face and missing how the curtain rod began to bend with how hard Dib was pulling at it. “I should _SKIN_ you for thinking that I-!”

His sentence ends with a yelp, slipping to fall backwards to the floor again. Zim’s hand reaches out instinctively to grab something and catches the end of the shower curtain, pulling it, and by default; Dib down with it until the curtain rod _snaps_. Zim hits the floor, Dib hits the bottom of tub and the only positive thing worth noting about the whole situation was that at least the curtain was enough to keep him fully covered.

Both boys groan in pain, and wince in unison when a shrill voice echoes in the bathroom. “PIGGY! NO!”

Red and amber eyes avert and look towards the doorway. Gir stands there, covered in mayonnaise, syrup and god-only-knows what else, track marks leading from out behind him and staring fearfully at the pig toy floating innocently in the toilet water. “Piggy! Piggy! I’ll save you!”

And with that, Gir scuttles across the bathroom, leaving a condiment mess in his wake, hops upwards and uses the flush handle as a diving bored into the toilet. Zim’s eyes grow comically wide as he watches his Sir-Unit begin to spin rapidly down the toilet and all but forgets the human in the tub to lunge towards him and snatch him out by his legs. “Gir! You don’t belong in there!”

Gir’s voice is bubbled by water and sounds like he’s having a hell of a time. “I’m getting clean!”

Zim’s face is a mixture of panic and disgust. “That is NOT where clean things go!”

Dib slinks back into the corner of the shower under the cover of the curtain, adrenaline dropping as he watches the Invader yank the Sir-Unit back from his flushy fate, and puts his face into his hands. Mentally, he adds another point to the ‘Zim is a terrible roommate’ score board.

* * *

An hour later, after an extensive cleaning up of the condiment trail, hosing Gir down in the shower and Dib finally in the comfort of his own clothes again (pajama, comfy clothes for now, they weren’t getting off the ship for a while after all) Dib pops a TV dinner in the ‘microwave’ and inwardly thinks about how sternly can he scold Zim about the whole ‘human privacy thing’ that was apparently zilch in Irken culture without somehow provoking the alien any more than he already was.

Zim sits at the table they’ve pulled out from the wall, adverting Dib’s eyes and overtly focused on the task of getting the last of the goop out of Gir’s limb joints with a twisted rag. Turns out that the Sir-Unit does this sort of mess more often than can be counted, and if the food is left in his system long enough, it’ll harden and crust, making it hard for him to move. At least, that’s what Zim is grumbling about as he swivels Gir’s leg and finishes up wiping the yellowed mayonnaise from the robot’s ‘toes’. It’s harder than it looks, mostly because the robot keeps swinging his legs as he sings, and Zim has a hard time trying to keep him steady.

Dib pulls out the TV dinner tray with the ends of his shirt (they weren’t smart enough to remember to bring hot mitts) and sits at the table, waving a plastic fork to gain their attention. “I’ve downloaded Floopsie and Moopsie on my laptop.” He says. The moment the first name leaves his mouth, Gir’s head does complete turn around to stare at him in wonder. Zim looks up to squint an eye at him. Dib shrugs. “No, really. If you sit still, I’ll let you watch it.”

Gir immediately freezes. Zim says nothing, but works faster while the Sir-unit was compliant and Dib briefly abandons his meatloaf to grab his laptop from the bedroom, re-enter the cock-pit and set it down on the floor. It takes three seconds to bring up the media player and half a second for Gir to jump off the table, using it as momentum and nearly crashing into Dib as he skids past and slams into the opposite wall. “GIMMIE.”

Dib works quickly, starts the cartoon and stumbles out of the way before Gir lunges towards the laptop and practically glues his eyes to the screen. Er, optical parts. Whatever he had. Sir-Unit happy and distracted, Dib returns to sit with his meatloaf. Zim tosses the soiled rag in Gir’s direction and without looking away from the screen, the robot catches it in his mouth and swallows it. Weird.

“You downloaded cartoons for him?” Zim questions. Dib shrugs, sticks a bite of food in his mouth and tries not to flinch when it burns his tongue. Apparently his face must have tipped Zim off, because the alien’s mouth twitches in amusement when Dib’s ears start to grow red. “I didn’t realize you even remembered what sort of cartoons he liked.”

“I’ve broken into your base how many times now? Nearly every time I came in and he was sitting on the couch, he was always watching the same show. It wasn’t hard.” Dib catches red eyes trailing to his dinner, or more importantly the threat that the dreaded meatloaf imposed. He pushes the opposite end of the tray, the side covered with macaroni and cheese, towards Zim. “Speaking of breaking and entering-”

Zim interrupts him by stabbing a claw into a noodle with more aggression than what could be considered necessary. “Zim is _sorry_ that he interrupted the Dib-stink’s shower.” That didn’t sound too convincing. Scrutiny is amplified when he sticks the macaroni and his mouth and mumbles under his breath. “Eventhoughyourfleshritualsarestupid.”

Dib deadpans at him. “You know, humans have these rules-”

“ _I’m_ not human.” Zim cuts him off, chewing obnoxiously. “So I don’t really care.”

For just a brief moment, Dib considers the pros and cons and what the consequences may be if he were to flick a bit of meatloaf into Zim’s ugly green face. Just a little piece. “Well, I’m am human, and humans don’t really look at each other like that unless their, uh-” He racks his brain for a proper explanation. Zim stares tiredly at him, mindlessly chewing on a second noodle.

“Lovers-” Zim’s chewing stops, and Dib is quick to continue. “Or at least really good friends. It really depends on the people. Some don’t care, some do.” He trails off. When Zim doesn’t respond right away, not anything more than the neutral glare being sent towards his way, Dib coughs awkwardly and keeps his eyes on his tray. “I guess that’s not a thing for Irkens.”

“Don’t generalize.” Zim speaks up. “Irkens care very much about our attire. Modesty! An Irken’s uniform is a signifying of their rank. To be caught without proper attire is a major insult to the Irken and their Empire!” Zim slams his free hand down on the table to emphasis his point, and Dib quietly notes that this explains why he saw Zim pack his old uniform back in the luggage prior to leaving. “While it’s not exactly the same, It’s very much a ‘thing’ for Irkens, Earthboy.”

Dib nods. “Ah, so you’re just rude in general?”

“You’re Dib. It’s different.”

As much as Dib loved to weasel out as much Irken culture detail as he could, there was something undeniably frustrating about his source being Zim, the ever contradictory, confusing alien who Dib is pretty sure has devoted at least half of his lifespan to figuring out just how exactly to get underneath his skin. “Don’t I get a say in the matter?”

“Don’t I?” Zim repeats in mockery. “I’ve seen you nearly die from your own stupidity more times than I can count. You’ve bled and cried on me enough times that I’ve memorized what it smells like, you’ve used me as a bed with your greasy hair thingy all in my face, and you’re worried about me seeing your _skin_? Of what little I already haven’t from years of your injury?” There’s amusement in his voice. “Irkens don’t care for friendships outside of alliances for battle. You are a special case, Dib. I don’t care where you think the line is drawn.”

Dib’s face is red and frowning. Zim skewers another macaroni with his claw and pops it in his mouth. “I didn’t see anything anyway. Quit your sniveling. Zim promises not to ‘barge in’ again.”

Part of Dib wants to jump out of the airlock, the other half wants to push Zim out of it instead. But, that would never turn out well, so the human improvises his plastic fork as a sling shot, bending the tip backwards until it flings meatloaf forwards and smacks Zim in the middle of his face. The alien flinches, then deadpans as the spot in front of his eyes begin to sizzle, and he hisses as he flicks it off of his skin and onto the table. “I’ll never understand you humans.”

“Speaking of which.” When in doubt, and in an effort to hide the nervous fidget in his fingers, Dib tries a more direct approach. “Tell me more about Irkens. Culture and stuff. You never really talk about it.”

Zim seems to think thoughtfully for a minute, claw tapping on his chin and making a noise of acknowledgement. “Hmm. No.”

Dib stabs into his left over meatloaf in a threatening manner and restrains a grin when the alien’s eyes dart from meatloaf, to Dib and back again before letting out a low growl. “ _Fine_. What, exactly, is the Dib-stink so curious about in particular? How we’re the best military in the known universe? How we’re spawned at the ready to serve our Empire? How we’re going to outlast and conquer every inferior race?” He leans forwards on the table if only for dramatic effect. “Please! Tell Zim your questions! I will gladly prove your wasted years of ‘alien research’ wrong!”

Dib merely rests his cheek in his hand and swirls the fork in Zim’s direction. “So like….When you guys molt, do you ever leave a weird, skin of yourself behind? Like a snake? Or does it like, crumble and disintegrate. Does it hurt? Is there pile of molts from you back in your base on Earth, or do you guys eat it like some snakes do?”

“...I take back what I said. I’m more willing to indulge you in literally anything else.”

“Teach me how to fly the Voot.” Zim opens his mouth and Dib cuts him off before he could continue. “Actually _teach_ me. Not just the basics for emergencies. I want to know how this whole thing works.” He jabs the air in front of the alien’s face with a coy smile and finds amusement in Zim’s defeated look. “You owe me for earlier.”

The snarl he receives isn’t encouraging, but Zim eventually relents.

* * *

Time is weird when you’re traveling in space. Dib couldn’t trust the clock on his laptop nor on his phone, and his own internal body clock seemed to betray him, or at least be just as confused as he was. It wasn’t anything super new; he was notorious for being an insomniac back on Earth with as wild as a sleep schedule as he had, it’s not that different now that he was speeding through galaxies at the speed of light. Still, it’s a little alarming to wake up in bed for a second time and still feel like his brain is clouded when he does.

There’s no rude alien jostling him from his sleep, so it’s easier to sit upright and collect his bearings, stretching and yawning the fuzziness from his mind. He reaches for his glasses, settled near the end table and finds his hand comes up empty. Dib blinks, scans the blurry picture of the room and finds no glint of his glasses nearby. Even the space jar was still dark inside, meaning it hadn’t been touched. His body was sluggish. It felt as if he had only slept for a few hours in shifts. Again. Maybe this was something that he needed to tell Zim about.

Shaking his head, Dib rubs at the tender spots on his temples. Okay, so Zim was teaching him about the controls of the ship. He showed him what buttons opened the emergency tanks, what buttons turned off all of the power (because for some reason, floating precariously in space in an unpowered ship with no oxygen cycle is something Dib needed to know) and showed Dib a particular code, the kind he presses his fingers into the touch-screen dash at just the right pace, and it would turn the entire ship invisible to hide from any threats. Neat technology, until Dib tried to do the operation himself and Zim mocked him for having too many fingers to account for.

Dib remembers feeling sluggish around the part of the lecture where Zim was telling him about what type of fuel Irken ships use (Vortain at best, but Plookisian fuel could work in a pinch), resting his head on the dash, maybe just making Zim a little uncomfortable with the on going stare (he deserved it at this point) before…waking up here. Meaning he probably dozed off at some point and Zim didn’t want him drooling off all over the controls.

He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose to echo the headache simmering in the back of his head, and moves to get up. Something cold and weighty presses against his stomach and Dib freezes, one leg hanging off the mattress and looks downwards. There’s a lump underneath his shirt, two bright cerulean eyes peering up at him through the white fabric and the cold, metal feeling of spindly arms wrapped around his mid-section.

Dib just blinks at it, poking at his shirt. “Hey, Gir.”

The lump giggles. “I’m doing nap time with you.”

“That’s fine.” Dib pulls open his collar to peer down into his shirt. Gir’s eyes are bright enough to sting a little, but he manages. “Do you know where my glasses are?”

The robot burps, and said glasses spew out. Dib mulls in the back of his mind that he’s probably way too used to this behavior by this point when all he does is snatch them for under his collar, wipe the saliva off on his sleeve and settle them back on his face. The lenses weren’t broken, so he’s thankful for that at least.

There’s no sense in trying to pry the lump off of him, so Dib stands upright with the robot still straddled around his midsection, even going as far to place a hand underneath Gir to support the weight and all but waddles to the door-way. A few steps forwards and his brain is already hatching an revenge plan, or at least something that might garner a reaction for Zim for entertainment. Though, even before he slides it open, he can hear Zim’s voice…talking to someone? Himself?

Dib slides open the door, waddles into the main room with a giggling robot swung around his mid-section and stops at the sight of Zim. Said alien was sitting at the table, scattered micro tools across the surface, with a cord sticking out of his Pak and attached to the device held in his hand that looked suspiciously like Dib’s phone.

Zim doesn’t look up from what he’s doing, watching something on the smaller screen, but his antenna twitches in the human’s direction. “Oxygen Toxicity! I didn’t know there was such a thing as ‘too MUCH’ oxygen for a human. Why are you all so high maintenance!”

Dib waddles as dramatically as possible. “Hey Zim.”

“And I had to ADJUST the levels in the ship because he seemed so SLOW.”

Well, that began to explain some things. He waddles forwards again, trying to stifle Gir’s giggles and keep his own face as neutral as possible. The corner’s of his mouth pull upwards against his will anyway. “Zim.”

Said alien’s attention is still glued to the phone. “He also hit Zim with shampoo! Yes! I was also surprised to learn that he used it!”

“Zim, I’m with child.” He finally catches his attention, red eyes flying up and looking at him quizzically. Dib knocks on Gir’s head through his shirt with a _clunk clunk_ noise. “It’s yours.”

If there was a way to describe the utter _look_ on Zim’s face, words would not have been enough alone. Dib’s laughter is too much to hold back and raises in pitch when Gir has the audacity to peak out from the collar of his shirt, knocking against his chin and waving at his master. “ _I’m_ the baby!”

Zim deadpans at the both of them. “GIR! Get off of the Dib! He has germs!” He yells. An antenna twitches, like hearing something Dib cannot and Zim’s attention switches rapidly from Dib, to phone screen and back again, until he sighs and rotates the phone around. A quick tap of the claw puts the ongoing face time on speaker and the Pak cord that was hooked into the headphone jack detaches and disappears. “Do you see what Zim is having to deal with here?”

To Dib’s surprise, Gaz’s face meets him. Her hair is disheveled, a mixture of exhaustion and anger in her face. She’s staring into the camera with all the heated glare a little sister could possibly muster. Judging by the light in her room and the space of the window behind her head, it was midnight back on Earth and Zim most likely called her while she was sleeping. (How he managed to do that in the first place, that’s a mystery)

His sister’s frown deepens at the sight of the two of them. Gir falls out of his shirt and slams against the floor. “I’ve been born!”

His sister pinches the bridge of her nose, and her voice comes through a bit static from the phone speaker. “Okay, first of all: fuck both of you. Second of all,” A click and a beeping noise. Gaz hung up.

Zim gasps in offense and turns the device back around to gawk at it. “She hung up on me? ME? THE ALMIGHTY ZIM?”

“How were you able to call her in the first place?” Dib ignores the alien’s sputtering, glancing down to the parts across the table. Small things, colorful and with tiny irken insigmas on it. The size of such tools reminds him of all those little flags Zim planted in his organs once and he briefly wonders if Irkens just have a bunch of super ridiculously tiny gear for everything on hand somewhere. “Aren’t be billions of light years away from Earth right now? How the hell did you manage to catch a signal?”

“Schmillions.” Zim corrects him. “And do NOT question the powerful ways of Zim. I can do anything you’re feeble puny brain wouldn’t even be able to comprehend! I’M A GENIUS.” He shakes his fist in the air for a matter of three seconds, and then sets the phone down. “I modified your communications device to use the Voot as an amplifier. It should be able to make calls, as long as it’s in or within the Voot’s vicinity.”

Dib opens his mouth to immediately protests, (To which Zim raises his brow bone in expectancy) before shutting it close. That was actually pretty cool, and could be very useful. He doesn’t have a solid argument against this one. “Stop stealing my stuff.”

“You’re not getting your pants back, Dib-stink.”

* * *

Despite all the mishaps and the occasional yelling, the rest of the day (or, at least what could be considered ‘day’) goes by relatively easy. Except for the part where Gir went missing for a second time and Dib found him frozen solid in the refrigerator drawer. The both of them had to combine abilites, Zim using some sort of blow dryer tool from his Pak and Dib with a heated towel to defrost the robot, who immediately whined for cartoons again the moment his voice box defrosted. But aside from that, it was uneventful.

It doesn’t take long for Dib to get bored, and if it’s one thing him and Zim both have in common, boredom doesn’t spell good things.

He read the entirety of the book about the Jersey Devil he’s brought along with him, reread it and even cornered Zim in the cockpit to spew random facts about the Cryptid he’s sure the alien doesn’t give two shits about. The movies on his laptop he’s already seen before, rewatched Lilo & Stitch with Gir twice now, (no, he did not download Finding Nemo, the sir-unit has asked for that one a multitude of times and seems to forget the answer every time he comes back again)

Any attempt to call Gaz is met with a rejected beep and a harshly worded message about him interrupting her gaming session followed by a series of emoji’s that Dib is pretty sure is supposed to mimic a hangman with him in the middle. He takes a picture of Gir watching cartoons, bubbles frothing out of his mouth, draws digital purple over the robot’s head, a crudely doodled controller in the robot’s hands and sends it to her before putting it away.

Dib stands awkwardly in the bedroom. Paces to the main room, back again, uncertain with what to do with himself. Sits down on the mattress, rises, flops back down again. Maybe Zim was right, Dib _is_ High maintenance, in more ways than one. His fingers drum against the comforters, eyes locked with the fake stars on the ceiling.

An idea pops into mind, fueled quite possibly by the opportunity to be a curiosity driven 12 year old again.

He finds him in the bathroom. He’s using his Pak legs to stabilize himself, fixing the curtain rod and melding the metal to the wall using a smaller lazor from his Pak. Dib knocks on his knee and ducks backwards when the alien’s neck cranes downwards just in case Zim had the bright idea to drop everything on him. “Hmm?”

“Come help me with something.” Dib smiles at Zim’s confusion. “It’ll be fun.”

Zim tests the rod’s stability, satisfied, and lowers to floor with a look of scrutiny. “Your ideas of fun are either dangerous or stupid. What are we doing?”

Dib shrugs, walks backwards and Zim follows him and stands in the bathroom doorway. The lights coming off from behind him shadows his face, giving his eyes a strange glow. It’s weird how something like that could be considered so creepy and yet Dib find familiarity in it. He’s not going to think about that too much. He’ll ask how Irken eye opticals work later. “Just help me out.”

Dib clears off the top of the mattress of sheets, comforters and pillows, pushing it all to the floor. With one heave, he lifts up the first mattress and settles it against the wall, making sure not to hit the bee lamp in the process. Stepping back, he turns to face Zim again. The Irken squints at his actions. “You’ve dismantled your nest?”

“…Let’s not call it that. Just grab the other end of this one, and help me hold it up.”

Despite the obvious hesitation, Zim walks over and lifts the other mattress. Some of Gir’s stuff rolls out from underneath, crayons and ripped coloring book pages. Weird, Dib thought he was sleeping on a small bump or something. “Okay, hold it.” He lets go of the mattress before the alien could protest, grabbing other and leaning it forwards. “Now we just have to make a tent with it. Like a triangle. See?” He directs him, carefully, and steps backwards when both are balanced enough not to fall over. “Cool. Now we just throw blankets on top, and…there.”

The sheet is thrown hastily over the top, long enough to shield the front. Blankets and pillows are pushed into the small triangular hole that the tent creates. Zim stands a few feet back, watching curiously as this human settles a few pillows in specific places underneath, reaching for the space jar and giving it a hard shake. Galaxies and colors fills the space, and then disappear along with Dib as he crawls into the fort and hides behind the sheet.

Zim stands awkwardly in the room, eyeing the colors through the thin fabric. “Uh.”

Dib pokes his head out of the sheet. “You’re supposed to crawl inside.”

“This is dumb.” Zim fidgets in his spot. His antennae stand straight on the top of his skull. “What exactly are you supposed to gain from this?”

“Come inside.”

“No.”

“Fine, then. You’re not allowed in here.”

Retreating back inside the fort, Dib scuttles as far back he can and counts to five seconds. He gets to three before the sheet that functioned as the ‘entrance’ is batted to the side, Zim grumbling Irken as he lowed to the floor and crawled inside. It’s a tight fit, a cramped one, and the realization is evident on the alien’s face as he hunches over once he’s settled. The ‘ceiling’ is too low to give him room for his antenna so it’s pushed down by the mattress, much like Dib’s own hair. Zim sits cross legged and looks to him expectantly. “…Now what?”

Dib flashes a cheeky, toothy smile. “Tell me more about Irkens. I want to know about your biological stuff. Paks too.”

Zim hisses at him. It’s not harsh, but there’s maybe a foot and half of proximity between them and it’s enough to cause goosebumps to ripple over his skin. “This was a TRAP!”

Before the alien could scramble out, Dib latches onto his arm and doesn’t flinch when Zim’s hiss increases in octaves. “I’ll do the same! I’ll tell you more about humans. Whatever you want.” He tries to negotiate, and see’s a falter in the Invader’s composure. “We’ll make it a fair trade. And you still owe me, anyways.”

Zim scoffs at him. “I’ve been on that pathetic dirt planet for years! Do you really think there’s anything about human biology or _you_ that I don’t already know?!”

Dib pauses, shrugs, and leans back as far as he’s able. “Yeah, I can think of somethings.”

His counterpart snorts. “NONSENSE. Prove to Zim.”

In the most dramatic show he could possibly muster, even going as far to wave his hands like a magic act, Dib sticks out his tongue and uses it to touch the tip of his nose. He doesn’t know which if of what happens next is funnier; the way that Zim’s neck recoiled back so far in shock or the amplitude of the alien’s eyes and how wide they could go. “ _What._ ”

“A lot of humans can touch their noses with their tongue. Some of us can’t though-” Dib is harshly interrupted by a grab to his face, jaw held tightly in one clawed hand and another pinching the tip of his tongue in a way that hurts.

Zim cranes forwards, a little too close for Dib’s liking, one digit buried into the human’s cheek to keep his mouth open as he presses a pad of his ‘thumb’ onto Dib’s tongue. Wrapping his hands around the Invader’s wrists in an attempt to push him off do nothing.

“HA! Your tongues are so flat and pathetic! You’ll never be able to speak proper Irken with something like this. How did you manage to-” Dib bites down on his hand, hard enough hoping he’ll back off but Zim merely hisses and pries the human’s mouth open further. “Quit that! You were the one who offered the inspection. Own up to your word.”

He briefly considers biting again when Zim removes his hands, allowing Dib to catch his breath (and hopefully stim the heat the rushing to his face in the embarrassment). An odd taste in his mouth; Zim wasn’t wearing gloves. He watches the Irken wipe his own saliva off on his shirt with a scrunched look, and squinted at Dib in question. Apparently, Zim’s own curiosity beat his own disgust.

Clearing his throat, Dib tries to return back to the plan. “Okay, my turn.”

Zim stares at him for a moment, and then laughs something maniacal. “I wasn’t done.”

There is no warning when the hands appear again and Dib’s jaw is held, teeth clenched and Zim was being a little too overly observant. His head is tilted upwards as the alien finds interest in his piercings in, one claw twiddling with one in particular and pulling at the soft parts of his ear. It traces over the hairline down to the jawline and back again, thumbs at the skin on his neck. When Zim speaks, he does so casually. “When your face reddens, the color dips here too.” He taps the tops of Dib’s ears. “Can you move them?”

“My ears? No, some humans can though.” Dib places his hands back on the alien’s wrists and keeps them there. This isn’t at all how he imagined this playing out, but maybe he could still make it work. “Are your claws made of bone separate from your initial skeleton? Can they break like fingernails can?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Irken skeletal structures are strong. Resilient. Breaks don’t last long before they are fully repaired and it would take a incredibly powerful force in order to damage them in the first place.” Zim moves from the side of his head to the front again, and Dib suddenly finds the space beside Zim’s head an interesting place to advert his eyes as the Invader traces his hairline. “I never understood your ‘fashions’. Is this supposed to be rank based?”

Dib furrows his brows and is about ask what he means when he feels a small pinch, Zim holds his head steady and brings his hand forth. One of his piercings is held inbetween his claws. “Uh…no. I just got those because I like them.” Zim doesn’t answer, only sets the earring down and returns to his inspection. Dib swallows the lump in his throat and tries not to think too hard about the alien currently taking off his piercings. “Sometimes it looks like you have a thumb and two fingers, somethings just three fingers. What’s up with that?”

Zim has successfully taken off one ear of piercings, setting them to the side and pulling back (thank god for breathing room, Dib was starting to think he was going to implode) and raises one hand. Ungloved, with the sleeve pushed back, Irken hands don’t have visible veins like humans do. Instead, the knuckles are sharper. A small _click_ sounds out and Dib gasps as he watches the joint inbetween two claws shift upwards on the bone, and the ‘thumb’ digit mimics the other two. Another _click,_ the joint pops back into place.

Dib grabs it without thinking. “Fucking weird.” He curses, but it’s in awe, running his own thumb up the pad of the Irken’s palm. “Does it hurt when you do that?”

Zim’s other hand travels to Dib’s other ear, and he doesn’t stop him as he works on those piercings too.“No. Does this sort of proximity happen often?”

He’s careful not to shake his head on the low chance that his ear might be ripped. “I mean, yeah? Humans like to be close to each other, most of them. I guess inspection wise, doctors could fit into that-”

Zim plucks out an earring a little too harshly, and drops it to the pillow. “What I meant was, does the Dib-stink do this with any one else?”

Dib glances up from his hand. “No. Just you.” That sounds too vulnerable for his liking, so he follows it up with an insult. “I did have plans to dissect you, you know.

The insult comes casually.“I’d gut you before you’d ever get the chance. What are the little bumps on your skin?”

“…Goosebumps. They can pop up when something when it’s too cold.” He hopes Zim didn’t pay attention back on earth enough to know Dib was only half telling the truth. It’s impossible to track where Zim’s eyes are following, even when he plucks the second earring out, he says nothing. An antenna cranes forwards against his forehead. “Aside from hearing, smelling, and detecting vibrations, is there anything else these can do?” He plucks at one hanging down in his face in particular and Zim freezes. “Can be broken? Do they regrow if they’re cut off.”

“Yes, no, and yes.” Zim states rather bluntly.

He waits for an explanation, and when one doesn’t come, Dib gently tugs on it, fingers running up towards the base. “What else does it do?” His fingers coil around the stalk and twiddle with it when it twitches against his palm. Zim’s face is coiled into scowl. “Does this hurt? What does it feel like?”

“ _This_.” The Invader grabs the soft part of Dib’s ear and yanks it, causing the human to hiss in pain, pinching the tender flesh there and suddenly Dib is grateful for the lack of experiencing because that would have hurt like a bitch otherwise. Zim has a low hiss in his voice. “And you have the audacity to say that _I’m_ the one who doesn’t know boundaries.”

“Okay, okay. I get it.” Dib hopes that his pacing heart rate could be drowned out with questions. It wasn’t fair it was audible to the Irken, and it was probably too telling. He swats away the offending hand and leans back, taking a deep breath and matching Zim’s glare with his own. “What was the last?”

A pause. The antenna twitch against Dib’s hair before retracting back as far as the mattress fort would allow them as if they were caught doing something taboo. “Nothing else.”

He doesn’t really believe that, but he’s not going to push his luck unless he wanted to risk a fight. “My turn.”

Zim looks less than pleased, if anything hesitant, but after a moment or two of glaring the alien eventually sighs, opens his maw and Dib can see the sharp teeth in all their otherworldly glory. Fueled curiosity bubbles in him, and Dib is hit with the fidgeting wonder of being twelve all over again as he hooks his thumbs into the sides of Zim’s mouth (a low noise bordering on a threat resounds from the back of his throat, but he does nothing further) and Dib peers inside his mouth.

Was this sorta gross and inappropriate? Sure. Was it also something he’s been dying to do since his younger years? Also true. Was the best part of this the fact that Zim was probably annoyed with how nosy Dib was getting? Absolutely.

“These weren’t always this sharp. Is it something that you get when you get older? Do they file down or fall out and get replaced when you grow up?” Dib presses one finger to the tip of a tooth, hard enough a bead of blood appears on his skin. Red eyes watch him closely as he pulls it backwards and squints at the color. Strange to find a predatory trait on a vegetarian creature.“Why do you have sharp teeth if you can’t eat meat?”

Zim makes a noise of annoyance and Dib inwardly bullies himself for asking questions while the alien couldn't speak. He makes the mistake of looking up and making eye contact. Forget the sudden skip in his heartbeat, Dib sees something clear and thin for a split second when the Invader blinks, holding that gaze for too long he doesn’t notice the ever growing unnerve in the alien’s body.

A sudden movement, Dib flinches backwards like he’s about to be bitten. Zim shakes his head like a dog, tongue rolling over in his mouth. He smacks his tongue for a moment, face scrunched at the taste.

“They become that way as we age, and it’s not that we can’t eat meat, it’s your filthy, polluted earth meat I can’t stand.” His tongue spits out in motions that remind Dib too much of a snake tasting the air. “Zim has remembered he can do something MUCH more impressive than your silly nose-touching trick.”

Zim’s tongue rolls out of his mouth, much to Dib’s chagrin, and he gawks as the appendage rises and practically slaps itself against the alien’s eyeball. “What the fuck.” Dib nervous laughs, a goofy grin pulling at his lips. “I _hate_ that. Do it again.”

Somehow in a way that is only done by Zim, he manages to talk (poorly, of course) with his tongue still on his eyeball. “BEHOLD! The superior trick!”

Dib snorts at him. “Doesn’t count. No nose touching.”

Zim snarls at him, tongue falling back inside his mouth if only to yell. “WHAT. This is rigged! Zim has no nose to touch! What do you expect me to do? Touch _your_ nose? HUH?” His tongue pokes out again in what can only be described in as a threatening manner.

Laughter, Dib raises two fingers to mimic scissors in his defense and ‘chops’ the air around the ‘threat’ as he leans far back as he possibly can. “You keep that thing _away_ from me or I’ll sneeze on you. Or worse.”

“Do that, and I’ll rip your nose right off of your ugly face and flush it.” Zim pulls back, which isn’t very far considering the lack of room in the fort. “Zim has more questions.”

“Shoot.”

“Your eyes are easily fixable. I could give you new ones if you wanted.” He makes a pinchy, grabby motions with his fingers. “Why don’t you let me fix them?”

“I rather be caught dead then let you touch my eyeballs. What’s that little cover on your eyes when you blinked? Like a second eyelid?” Dib leans forwards to get a better view, mindlessly prodding at his own eye for emphasis. Zim says nothing, but blinks slowly for show, and Dib spies that same layer again. “You _do_ have a second eyelid!”

Zim makes a noise of acknowledgement, rolling his eyes (at least from what Dib could tell) as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He raises a claw and sets it on Dib’s cheek, just below the eye, and pulls the skin down slightly. “The black dots in your eyes shrink and grow sometimes.” He taps the skin there. Dib’s brows furrow as an antenna brushes against his forehead. “They’ve grown larger for the past few minutes.”

A dryness in Dib’s throat. He does an absent minded gesture to the inside of the fort, the space jar’s lights were beginning to dim. “Human pupils react to lighting. They’re small when they’re lots of light, and bigger when there’s none to absorb more of it.”

“I’ve read other things.”

“Do your own research, then.” Dib snarks back. He leans backwards, far enough to where Zim’s claw is left hanging in the air until it eventually drops. Silence rejoins the room, and he doesn’t hear any small footsteps, so the investigator returns to his questions. “What’s the difference between male and female Irkens?”

“There isn’t any.” Zim is quick to answer, though he thinks for a moment when Dib shoots him a look of confusion. “We simply are what we are. Some Irkens have different eye colors, voices and antenna shapes. Our heights vary, but truly there’s no sexual dimorphism in Irkens.” He talks hastily, pride in his tone. “We all have the same bits, thanks to our _superior_ cloning.”

Eyebrows raising on his forehead, Dib questions him. “The same… _bits_? NO. No. _No_. Listen, I don’t-” Hands rising up, nervous laughter when Zim opens his mouth to continue talking and Dib is quick to stop him. “I don’t want to know.”

Again, Zim stares at him with blatant confusion but insults him all the same. “Coward.”

There is a quiet sound of a door opening and closing in the room, but neither of them comment on it. “Anyway, one more question. Last one.” Dib adds on the last part when red eyes glare at him unimpressed. “How long do Irkens live for?”

Zim’s answer is immediate. “As long as we please. The Irken Empire is a _master_ at cloning technology. We’ve perfected the practice so we may live long, loyal lives serving the Empire from the moment of our hatching, and many years to come.” Dib seems unsatisfied with that answer, but ever the eager Irken is happy to continue rambling. “We live until we are KILLED! ”

Something shifts outside of the fort, but Dib is too focused on a question rolling in his mind to pay heed to it. “Wait, so how do you deal with over-population?”

“We die in battle. We clone. We conquer.” Zim states matter-of-fact. “Most Invaders and soldiers perish younger anyway, around the age when I arrived onto Earth.”

Dib hums, picks up and rolls the space jar inbetween his palms. His fingers tap a pattern against the glass. He already knew that child soldiers was a common occurrence within the Empire, but it never really hit him how many lives were so easily tossed away in the process of it. He shouldn’t say anything about how sad that was. Sometimes tells him that Zim’s pride is more of a facade, so he defaults to humor. “I guess when I’m old and wrinkly you’ll probably still be at your prime, right? I can see you planting an Irken flag on top of my grave at some point.”

Zim’s mouth curls back into an unreadable expression, and the smile he gives looks forced. It holds there. He says nothing. Dib starts to inwardly deflate, anxiety rises like he may have said something wrong. “What?”

“ _Gir_.” Zim speaks lowly, calmly like one would to a scared toddler. “I can hear you. Come out here.”

Silence. Then, the pitter patter of footsteps and bright blue eyes peek inside the fort, glancing inbetween the two boys. In his hands is Dib’s folded laptop. “…Are yous havin’ a slumber party without me?”

“We do not sleep, Gir.” Zim corrects him, though he reaches towards the entrance, plucks the robot by his neck, settles him in his lap and takes the laptop from him. “Spying is bad. Unless it’s on our enemies! And also Dib. Then it’s good.”

The robot sputters something incoherent and Dib finds himself taking back the laptop, opening it up and scanning what was still open. It still had a pretty decent amount of battery left, the cartoons he had downloaded were tabbed off and instead it looks like Gir had been watching a documentary about the Loch Ness monster that he happened to have on file, as well as hundreds of other sorts of documentaries.

A short glance towards the Irken and Sir-unit, (red eyes meet his but don’t dart away like his do) and Dib inwardly sighs. It didn’t go how he planned. Still, he learned plenty about Irken biology and culture, at least things he wasn’t sure about over his years trying to study the alien, but he never got around to the Pak. He never mustered the courage to ask about the _other_ things.

He closes all of those tabs and finds something worthwhile, setting up the media player and turning to the other two inhabitants of the mattress fort. “We still have a few hours until we reach the planet, right? Wanna watch a really, really bad movie about aliens?”

Gir gives two eager thumbs up for an answer. His master, however, is harder to convince.“How bad?”

“They make crop circles.”

The displeasure on Zim’s face is evident, but he doesn’t say no. Dib sets up the laptop to the front of the fort so the three of them could see. The inside feels even more cramped with the three of them and could very well collapse on them at any time, but Dib finds the most comfortable spot touching soldiers with the Irken and so much as blink as the Irken huffs at the gesture. Though, Zim settles against a soft spot with Gir in his lap and goes quiet.

He didn’t get all the answers he wanted, but he’ll have the rest of this week to figure it out, so Dib grabs a pillow and presses play.


	3. To Seek Out a Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving on the destination planet, Dib's excitement is overwhelming and Zim is...well, Zim. The planet is unforgivably cold, Irkens and outsiders are not generally trusted and a brief encounter at a shambled market might come back to bite them. But it works out in the end. Mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long, school caught me by the neck and threw me into a wood chipper. Obviously by now, y'all know that ZaDr is prevalent here. Also I'm running off of an hour of sleep, I'm taking my routine nap after posting this and correcting errors after I wake up lmao
> 
> NOTES: Nothing really notable in this chapter. The next chapter after this is where the violence really starts.

Dib wakes up with a sore back and a crick in his neck, squished by the fallen mattress fort and the cold, heavy metal of none other than Gir who’s found a place to curl up onto his chest, head wedged under Dib’s chin and sucking his thumb.

Unsurprisingly, the floor of the ship wasn’t a comfortable place to sleep, and the pillow he’s put there prior didn’t do much for him anyways. His laptop was pushed to the side, saved from the tragedy that was one side of the mattress fort fallen, sheets and blankets that used to decorate the fort was now skewed over the mess and evidently drowning Dib awkwardly in fabric. The space jar has rolled somewhere he can’t see and there was no green alien to be found, leaving Dib to try and dig his way out of the comforters himself.

Dib picks himself up from the floor, stretching his arms out. Gir wraps around his neck in his ‘sleep’ and dangles from his neck, making no protest as the human stands upright and rubs the tiredness from his eyes. A glance around the room. The mess of the fort could be easily put back together into the make-shift bed, given if Dib has enough energy for it. Aside from the crayons and other stay objects on the floor, there’s no sign of Zim. Dib steps forwards and his foot steps on something soft, looking down. A pair of pants, the pair that Zim had stolen from him prior. An image of a streaking Zim pops up in his sleep-ridden mind and Dib frowns at his own audacity. Still, he kicks the clothing back into the corner with the rest of the luggage and quietly plans to hide the rest of his things should the alien get any more ideas about borrowing from his wardrobe.

It takes him another moment of finding his glasses among the blankets, prying Gir off of his neck and standing there awkwardly to realize just what exactly felt off about the room. It felt static, that ever so soft rumble that reverbed through the ship was gone. The ship wasn’t moving.

Dib carries Gir by the back of his neck (not like the Sir-unit minded, still sucking his thumb and pretending to be asleep even though it was very clear that saying the letter ‘Z’ over and over again wasn’t exactly a realistic way of snoring.) and stumbles to the doorway. Sliding it open quickly stuns him in a brighter light, the cockpit was illuminated much more than the bedroom. He hisses, free hand coming up momentarily to block out the light until his eyes adjust, fixing his glasses and peering outwards. He blinks at the sight beyond the windshield.

Zim sits at the dash, fiddling with a few buttons though it looks more out of habit than actually doing anything productive. Oddly, he’s in his uniform, no hoodie and with every piece rightly worn, from the ironed collar to the black gloves pulled up his forearm. Dib can’t remember the last time he’s seen him wear his Invader uniform simply as is, with no jacket or addition to differentiate it.

An antenna twitches, Zim turns towards Dib just a fraction, and a smile twitches at his mouth. “You didn’t whine in your sleep this time.”

He’s only been awake for five minutes and Dib is already overwhelmed with the urge to smack the alien into next week. Still, he refrains, and settles for tossing his Sir-unit in the Invader’s direction. The alien catches Gir in a cradle hold, neither robot nor alien breaking posture. “The ship isn’t moving.” It’s more of a statement than a question, but Dib’s curiosity is more focused on the picture outside of the Voot. “Does that mean we’re here?”

If it’s due to Dib’s bluntly ignoring his comment on his sleeping habits or simply irritated for stating the obvious, Zim rolls his eyes. He gestures to the scene outside, though it’s more in sarcasm than the actual need to catch the human’s attention. “You have working eyeballs. What do you think?”

“Pretty.” Dib mumbles, a trace of sleep still in his voice. When no comment is returned, he blinks at Zim’s expectant stare, and collects himself. “I mean, yeah. I know we’re here, I just didn’t expect it to be so-”

“ _Pretty?_ ” Zim repeats in mockery. There’s a soft grin on his face, teeth poking out. “This planet is filled with danger, mind you. I bet you wouldn’t find staring into the face of death so pretty.”

 _I’d say the same about you._ Dib opens his mouth, catches himself, and buries that thought way back in the depths of his brain to be stomped on and never to see the daylight again.

In his defense, the sight was really, really pretty. Beautiful even. Bright, new and unfamiliar, but ethereal in a sense.

The ship floats in what Dib assumes to be the planet’s atmosphere. _The_ Planet, said surprise destination that he wasn’t allowed to know anything about other than he could expect it to be cold. They’re floating high, just on where the beginning of the planet’s atmosphere begins and the edge of space pans out. Below runs white and various specs of other colors, the land blanketed in what appears to be snow. He can only make that assumption based off of the few snowflakes flying past the glass, and the cold chill that’s running through the ship. If he squints hard enough, he can see dull blues and lilacs dotting along the ground formed much like forests and valleys.

But the planet’s surface isn’t what caught his attention; it was the sky. A flux of mulled blues, purples, pinks and oranges scatter across the sky and constantly shift like arctic lights. It casts a shimmering effect through the clouds that hung by, filling out pallets across the air and laying them out oh so over the vast blank canvas down below. Dib watches snowflakes hit the windshield and melt against the glass, water trailing down and leaving rainbow streaks in it’s path.

“The sun here is a dying one.” Zim breaks through his thoughts, eyes locked on the still awe-struck Dib. Said human blinks, finds red peering back into his own and coughs into his hand when the gaze he meets doesn’t look away. Zim watches him for a moment, before turning back to the dash. “The weakness of this planet’s star is the cause for it’s ecosystem. This planet is locked into eh, what you would call an ‘eternal twilight’.” He waves a hand nonchalantly. “That’s why it’s so cold. Not much here can survive the temperature long-term, and it’s difficult to establish a decent energy source on a planet that can’t sustain solar-powered generators.”

Dib approaches the dash while the alien rambles, peering further outwards. There’s small specs of grey among the mass of changing colors, too ridged and square to be anything natural (unless that was just the way mass naturally formed on this planet) and he squints at it. “Not much?” He repeats, glancing at Zim. “But not impossible?”

There is a hint of pride in his voice when Zim nods. “Of course. The Irken empire laid waste to this planet’s original inhabitants ages ago. Our Paks regulate our body heat, and we never get tired. They were too weak to fight back.”

Oh. Well. Yikes. Dib steps back from the glass and another step away from the green alien, shooting him a look that can only come off as sourness. Knowing that the Irken Empire regularly conquered planets was one thing, but being in the presence of one mission successfully done and a planet that could possibly mark as the grave site of the conquered dead was a chilling realization. His hands twitch at his sides. He feels something crawling up in his throat to argue. “That’s horrible.”

Zim is silent if only for a moment. “It happened long before Zim’s hatching.”

Sometimes Dib forgets that Zim used to be (still is) Earth’s greatest threat to fates such as that. “Still.”

“Still, nothing!” He belts, swiveling away from the dash and jabbing a claw in the human’s direction. Gir is flung off of the Irken’s lap from the momentum and skips like a rock on water against water skidding across the cockpit’s floor. “GO! Clean yourself of whatever filth you may have on you and look presentable! It’s bad enough I’ll be traversing with the likes of you, I don’t want your smell to attract any unwanted attention.”

A muscle in Dib’s face twitches. Any left over sleepiness from before fades with sudden apprehension, and underneath that, excitement. “Attention from _what_ exactly?” He mirrors, cocking a brow. “If you’re telling me you’ve brought me to an Irken infested planet, I’m going to-”

Zim groans something guttural and glares at him with all due impatience. “CEASE your insufferable nagging and get dressed already! Zim’s patience is wearing thin!” Without looking, he presses a few buttons and the ship suddenly jolts, making a slow decent further down towards the planet. “And put on something warm! LAYERS. I have no intention of dragging your frozen corpse along with me should you perish. I’ll leave your body here.” He waves him off, Gir clinging to his arm. “Go now, shower before I force the matter. You smell ugly.”

Dib snorts at the Irken’s growing irritation. “I think I’ll pass on the shower today. I’ll be extra gross, you know. Just for the occasion.”

The glare in Zim’s eyes narrow and the Irken sends him a look, standing and taking a step towards him that can only be perceived as a threat and Dib all but back peddles into the bedroom, throwing up a rude gesture with his hand and slamming the door behind him, skidding into the bathroom and locking that door too just for good measure. Not that it would actually stop the Irken should he wanted, but it was a comforting motion.

Dib’s fingers twitch, drumming against his sides. Getting clean is more of a blur, his mind more focused on wishful details rather than on what his hands are doing, so his hair combing looks a little off and messy and he may have jabbed his own ears a few times putting his piercings in before deciding to forgo the entire process. He stashes them away somewhere safe, slips on his regular attire of shirt, pants, thick socks and shoes and adding a long sleeve over that. The hoodie comes next, then the trench coat, and in a bathroom full of hot steam from a shower that took less than five minutes, Dib already felt like he was suffocating in the heat. The excitement was too overbearing to care though.

What wasn’t there to be excited about? Sure, there were many vague details about the entire fiasco and a trip with Zim never once ended on a easily pleasant note, but thrill rushes through Dib’s veins and a smile crawls on his face even as he overheats in the layers of winter wear. He was on _another_ Planet, with quite possibly _other aliens_! (No offense to Zim, of course, but his mind always wondered as to what else was out there that’s core traits didn’t consist of being green, loud and evil.) If twelve year old Dib saw himself now…well, he’d probably think he’s a fucking idiot for traveling so far out alone and with his former nemesis none the less, but still be jealous. Madly jealous, actually. He’s dreamed out things like this since he could even imagine the stuff.

To put it simply, Dib was _giddy_.

It may have shown a little too much, especially when he feels the ship jolt to a halt and he’s too quick to rush out, hair still damp and glasses fogged. Zim is in the bedroom, rummaging through his luggage. He pauses when Dib enters, raising a hairless brow at the sudden eagerness the human was radiating in waves. Dib forces himself to still and wills a neutral look onto his face, though it does nothing to wipe away the faint amusement in Zim’s grin. “You are so easy to impress. Your glasses are upside down.”

Dib wrinkles his face, adjusts the glasses and sends the alien a look. “Shut up.”

“There is alien life on this planet. Small communities.” Zim starts off, and it breaks into Dib’s attention immediately. “We’ll be passing through one. It’s not unlike what you might find in one of your puny Earth towns. I doubt there will be Irkens so far out from the Empire’s reach, but it’s best you keep your MASSIVE head low and your smart mouth shut.” Zim glints at him. “Though, I doubt they’d be able to understand your primitive language anyways.”

Dib busies himself with pinching parts of his hair, wringing out the remaining dampness. “You’re pretty calm for being a lone Irken on a planet that probably hates you.”

“They’ll fear me.” Zim cuts in. “Those who value their lives would never attack and Irken and not expect retaliation from the Empire. Who would DARE to go up against the ALMIGHT ZIM? Only fools. Such as yourself.” He points a wagging claw. “Besides, you are a species never seen before. That does not work well in your favor.”

“…So you brought me to planet that puts me in immediate danger?”

There’s a chuckle hiding in Zim’s voice. “Is the Dib-beast _scared_? I thought you liked that sort of thing.”

Dib digs the spare pair of mittens he’d packed and throws it in Zim’s direction. They fall short of his face and bop against the alien’s chest in the most pathetic display of an attack the alien has ever seen. He deadpans at him, glaring more over at the stupid grin on Dib’s face rather than the mittens. “If the opportunity arises, I will gladly sell you for some fundip.”

The Invader drags something out from a drawer stowed in the wall, something fluffy and thick looking. From a distance it appears to be a pillowed blanket, but as the alien unfolds the fabric, it’s just a expensive looking coat. Stolen, most likely. Dib can’t say he’s not jealous. A coiled wire expels from Zim’s Pak, holding something small and rectangular at the end. Red eyes catch his staring. Zim plucks it, holding it out for the human to see.

“Currency.” He explains. Held between two claws is something thin, not unlike a credit card, though there’s something alike of a USB stick at the end of it. “Not all galaxies accept the same type of money, but this-” He waves it for show with a sense of pride. “This is universal. Mostly.”

The human hums, eyeing it with interest. “I’m going to steal that.”

“Then I will gut you like the thief that you are.”

With that casual insult, Dib sticks out his tongue and shifts to his own luggage. He pockets anything else of use, though he inwardly groans when he realizes that he didn’t bring a weapon for protection. The watergun he always kept on hand works wonders on Zim, but unless every alien lifeforms had the same allergy to Earth water as Irkens, it was useless here.

His phone was fully charged, though it wouldn’t be able to do anything of use besides act as a flashlight, assuming their proximity to the voot wasn’t going to be close enough for him to use the signal. Dib thumbs a quick ‘ _love u even tho ur hair looks like an eggplant_ ’ message to his sister, paired with a couple of emojis, quickly turns it off before he could receive any sort of irritated response, and stashes the phone away for safe keeping.

Flashlight? Check. It’s one of the smaller ones that can fit snugly in his pocket. Translator? Check. Small and compact. He cornered Zim earlier to make corrections to the data base so the translations were faster and more accurate. Any spoken Irken he wasn’t able to understand off the top of his head would be transcribed, as long as the speaker spoke accurately enough. Still, it could only translate Irken at the moment, so he would be in the dark if any of language was used. He’ll have to research others. Sure, he can have Zim interpret for him but his pride was dwindling.

Last was the camera, which came with a strap to hang around his neck. Fully charged, the lenses appeared to be okay. Dib swivels around and snaps a quick test picture without so much as looking at he was shooting at. A quick motion over his shoulder, and brings it back down again. Zim makes an agitated noise behind him but says nothing further. The flash works fine and the picture came out clear, so the camera was good to go. He squints at the image. Zim was doing… _something_.

He looks up and sure enough, Zim had Gir in his grip, held closely to his face while his antenna fluttered rapidly over the robot’s head and body. Amber eyes watch in confusion as the Irken flips the Sir-unit upside down, runs the appendages lightly over the metal of his body and back again, all while Gir giggled, small hands reaching up as if to grasp onto Zim’s antenna before they flicked away, too fast to be caught. Said Invader was very deeply focused in his task, unbothered Gir’s attempts to grapple him.

This looked…cute. Yeah, cute was a good word for it. Though, Dib felt like he was watching something that carried a bit more significance than what a light-hearted word could use to describe it. He glances back down at the captured image on the camera screen. Zim’s back is partially turned to him, though you can see the delight on Gir’s face in the image as he’s essentially feather dusted. There are dark blurs in the space where the antenna moved. Zim might kill him for having such an image where he’s not disguised, but Dib favorites and saves it anyway.

“Okay, I’ve got everything.” He says, holding out the camera. Zim makes no noise of acknowledgement, suddenly stopping his action and dropping Gir to the floor with little care. The robot bounces off of his head, once, twice, and throws himself back onto the floor to pogo jump when the momentum stops. Dib allows the camera to be plucked by a cord stringing from Zim’s Pak, stowing it away safely. “Ready to go?”

“No.” Zim threads out a crick in his antenna. He stares at Dib for a moment. “Not quite.”

There is no warning when claws come to grip the sides of Dib’s face, clasping around his jaw and effectively holding him in place as Zim pushes their faces mere inches apart. Tension rises in Dib and he freezes, eyes wide and stammering as Zim repeats the same action he was doing prior, though with a considerable bit more force. “What the _hell_ are you doing?!”

His response is a low hiss. “Quiet!”

Zim cranes his neck upwards, and antenna drags along Dib’s cheeks, glasses, nose and mouth. They intertwine with the locks in his hair and Dib flinches when they slide underneath the space between his glasses and trace his eyelashes. “Could you-! Why are you-!?” Wrapping his hands around the Irken’s wrists do very little to uplift the Irken away from him, and Dib’s face blooms an uncomfortable shade of red when Zim tilts his head side to side, upwards, and brings his face close enough he could feel the Irken’s breath on his skin. “What is your-!” He sputters and tries to look anywhere else other than the red of his eyes. “-fucking DEAL?!”

Sharp points of claws press further into his cheeks, and Dib bites his tongue when he steps back for room. Zim follows forth, one palm coming to cup around the back of his neck, pinching his hair and forcing Dib to stare at the ceiling. “CEASE your pitiful, smeetful WHINING! Zim is nearly done.”

Antenna trace in the space behind his ear, dipping lower down his neck and up again until it’s swaddled the skin there on either side of him all the way down to his collarbone, and Dib holds his breath with gritted teeth until Zim pauses, steps back and the grip around his head loosens. “THERE! Now stop your sniveling. Your voice is grating on me.” Zim huffs, hands perching on his hips and giving the human a look over. One antenna cranes forwards one last time for inspection before Zim nods to himself in satisfaction, and grins at Dib’s bewildered discomfort. “You are so easily bothered.”

Dib hopes the glare he’s sending is as filled with as much heat as the amount he feels burning in his face. His palm mindlessly rises and scratches at the skin around his neck, erasing the sudden itch there. “At least I’m not a green, scummy freak.”

“Silence, blimp head.”

The space between them still feels much too short, so Dib takes a step back with a wrinkled nose and raises a hand into his hair. He doesn’t need a mirror to know that his hair looked unkept even worse now. His skin felt tingly, faint phantom traces lingering in the seconds afterwards. As much as he wanted to chalk that up to some alien antenna poison nonsense, he knows better, and inwardly curses as he wills his heart pace to slow and the goosebumps on his skin to disappear.What even _was_ that?

In the moment of lose thought and before he can gather enough courage to ask, Dib jumps a little when Zim tosses something soft at him and it paps against his chest, barely catching it. A beanie, comfy and thick, and Dib is not one to refuse a gift as he plops it over his head and pulls it over his ears. His cowlick sticks straight up in the front, but he hopes it makes him look a little more collected than how he felt at the moment. A tearing noise. Dib turns in time to see Zim pulling on the expensive looking coat, a Pak leg jutting out from the fabric in the back and disappearing again.

“Gir!” Zim yells, and said Sir-unit seemly materializes from his hiding place (which was, this time, Dib’s laundry pile he’s stashed in the corner) before giving a small handed salute. Zim’s posture straightens like a general asserting a soldier, hands folding behind his back. “You will stay here and guard the ship! This is a very big responsibility, Gir, and I expect you to serve me well. Kill anything that isn’t me and the Dib-stink. Any intruders and possible thieves are to be eliminated on sight! Do you understand?”

Gir, still locked into a salute, whispers with a soft voice. “Even if it’s a pizza man?”

Zim’s nods. “Even if it’s a pizza man.”

“Ohhh.” Blue eyes turn red and Gir turns back to duty mode. “Yes, sir!”

With a final salute, Gir flips back onto his head, and bounces out of the bedroom. A crash and the sound of metal against glass echoes out from the cockpit. Dib slides the door open; Gir has somehow glued himself to the windshield facing outwards with a mixture of nacho cheese and syrup all in a matter of five seconds. “We’re leaving him here?” Dib voices his concern, mildly impressed by the robot’s speed to create a mess. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

Zim stalks past him. “Of course. The ship needs a security guard while we are away. The inhabitants and tourists of this planet are not known for their understanding and hospitality. Thieves may be present. Besides! Zim doesn’t not have the patience to handle _two_ idiots for the duration of this trip.”

* * *

They park somewhere odd. On top of a building, or what was left of it. There were other ships. Bigger and better looking than the scrappy Voot that fitted itself awkwardly into a space that was vaguely painted to be a parking spot. There were no insigmas painted on the hulls from where he could see, (Dib keeps a keen eye out for anything Irken, even when Zim tells him that it’s highly unlikely for a Empire vessel to venture this far out.) but the sheer sizes of the spacecrafts were large enough to transport entire crews, a strong advantage over his and Zim’s spit-together ship.

Dib vaults over the dash the moment the ship makes landing, eager to analyze his surroundings.

It is cold. _Very_ cold. There’s a small shock to his system once he leaves the comfortable chill of the Voot’s insides only to be blasted with frigid air that stings his skin. The snowflakes that land on his face leave a tingling sensation on his cheeks, the heat of his breath makes clouds form in front of his face. Immediately his fingers chill even inside mittens and Dib is glad Earth has a few hundreds of thousands of years before it will ever experience the slow, decaying effect of a dying sun.

This doesn’t deter him. Dib simply wraps his arms around his shoulders and wipes the fog off of his glasses for a clearer look. The roof of a alien parking garage maybe? The material that made up the building looked like it was purely made out of rust, but it doesn’t make a metallic sound when Dib walks on it. It’s solid and hard that his shoes don’t sink into it, but he leans down and brushes some ‘snow’ away, fingers running over the surface to reveal an organic texture. Rough, riveted, like rusty tree bark. A glance around the area. Manufactured walls and pillars, all made of the same material. Whatever it was, it was this planet’s equivalent of Earth’s concrete.

Everything _looked_ man-made (well, alien-made) but fashioned just so in a way that looks as if branches grew out from the ground and were carefully cultivated to form into homes and businesses. Fascinating.

“IDIOT.” Zim scrambles out of the ship on his Pak legs, lands right next to the human and bonks him on the head with a closed fist. “I told you to WAIT until Zim had scanned the atmosphere for gases that could be harmful to your weak, pathetic flesh body!”

“I thought you said the air here would be perfectly fine for me.” Dib pouts, rubbing the now sore spot on his scalp. “What gives?”

Zim looks at him as if he’d just spoken something incredulous and bonks him again. “My scans theorized you would be fine! Not guaranteed it, and you acted too impatient before I could conduct a small test deciding whether or not you would have needed some sort of respirator!” The snarl in Zim’s face lightens suddenly, and a hint of amusement replaces it. “Actually, it would have been pretty funny to see you withering in pain because of your own incompetence.” A wicked grin overtakes him. “Filthy blood spewing from your face holes. Choking on your own salvia. Funny! Not for you though. Zim imagines it would be quite painful.”

Dib scuffs his boots. “What a _considerate_ host you are.”

Zim ignores him, mumbling something about the snow that’s too heavily accented with Irken for Dib to decipher. The Invader turns towards the ship and the Sir-unit plastered to the windshield, throwing up a quick salute to the guard (Gir’s attempt at a salute is licking the glass) and Zim spins on his heels, ridged and body posed in the form of a soldier. “If we hurry, we’ll reach our destination within an hour, assuming you don’t do anything _human_ to slow us down.”

If there was any chance of Zim elaborating, he doesn’t. He strides over to the side of the building, Pak legs extending from his back and stabbing into the snow. The metal sinks a few inches in some spots, signifying it was deeper than what appeared. Dib follows him out of habit, peering over the side of the building with blanket curiosity. The area was covered in snow, streets and signs and walls alike, red and rusty spots peeking through the coverage where the snow fell away, moving specs on the streets that wasn’t detailed enough from this distance.

Dib glances down. They were high up, a few stories at least, and the sight is enough for him to clear his throat and take a cautionary step back. Nothing on the rooftop signified a nearby staircase or elevator.

“We have to walk in this?” He questions. Zim scans the horizon, searching for any sign of life and visibly relaxes when the area around them comes up barrens. “Why didn’t we just land where _‘it’_ Is?”

“Ships are loud and clunky. It would have made introductions harder, if not impossible. Besides, that area is dense with forest, more so than your Earthen forests. Even though Zim is an _excellent_ pilot, landing there would have torn our ship into scraps.” Zim answers without looking at him, craning over the edge of the building and giving Dib a near heart attack as he watches the Irken sink his Pak legs into the building with a metal _schlink_ , hanging diagonally and holding a hand out. “Come.”

Dib looks to Zim, down the scale of the drop and back to the alien again. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

If one could perfect the art of eye rolling without pupils, one might think Zim has achieved it. “Unless that ugly hair piece of your can helicopter yourself down, Zim does not KID you!” He waggles his outstretched hand like it’s a treat to a dog.

Dib’s mouth twists into a frown, which only deepens when Zim’s hand presses forwards and the alien raises his non-existent brows in taunting impatience. Any form of protest he can build dies with the realization that it’s probably the only way down, and Zim would probably just snatch him if he refused to comply anyways.

“This is stupid.” Dib grabs Zim’s hand and swallows the lump in his throat, eyes turning towards the dark sky. Alien soldier or not, the thin metal Pak legs embedded in the walls of the building and the offering Irken felt like a very flimsy bet verses the possible long drop to his death. “Don’t drop me.”

In the worst possible way, Zim yanks him forwards. “Tempting!”

The group disappears beneath his feet, though gravity feels less threatening than the feeling of Zim’s arms wrapping around his mid-section, and Dib’s shocked face huddles into the alien’s neck as human instinct takes over, throwing his arms around the Irken’s shoulders and cursing into his jacket. “You fucker-!”

Zim laughs. He can’t see it, eyes shut tight, but the maniacal noise spews next to his ear and it’s just as jarring as the feeling of the two of them descending rapidly, Pak legs crawling down the side of the building.

The alien is warm, a brief reprieve from the chill. Dib presses further into him as the wind blows upwards in some attempt to gain that warmth for himself, and the realization makes his lips turn up into a snarl. “You’re enjoying this.”

The hold around him tightens in what can only be considered a mockery, and Zim snorts at him. “Holding your pathetic life in my hands _is_ quite enjoyable.”

There’s a jolt, the grip around him loosens and Dib is all but unceremoniously dumped (from a safe distance, at least) into a mound of snow. The human lands in the snow with an ‘oof’, without injury aside from the sudden shock of cold, and Zim cackles at him as he safety descends the last level and glowers at the twist of limbs that make up the investigator. “Unfortunately, Zim can only stand your putrid stink for so long!”

Dib kicks him from the ground without looking. His foot hits nothing but air and the Irken mocks him even for the attempt, but the insults are easy to tune out. Facing the sky, the colors and the stars that seem to drift along the air like waves, once again he finds himself in an overwhelming disbelief that hey, he’s on an alien planet, light years away from home, and the only grounding he had to keep safe was a former enemy who just dropped him into a snow pile that he’s pretty sure he remembers being quite toxic to human beings.

Said realization causes Dib to sit up with lightening speed, spitting out bits of wet snow and opening his mouth to yell their usual sort of banter when he pauses. Zim is smiling still, face locked in a wide toothed grin showing off sharpened teeth, but it doesn’t look amused anymore. Blank, neutral, like a cat baring it’s teeth in mild caution. His eyes aren’t focused on Dib, rather than the space far behind him.

Dib furrows his brows, turns around to track his gaze and amber settles on three figures. Maybe four. Far enough away not to cause a problem but close enough that Dib could see just how odd they were. Inhuman, alien for sure. None of them looked the same species, with different colored scales and fur, eyes that multiplied (though some of them didn’t have any) and body shapes that reminded Dib of monsters in children’s drawings. (That’s a rude thought, he thinks, and wonders if he looks anything like what aliens might consider scary.)

Inhabitants, maybe. Civilians, locals or travelers. Nothing not to be expected, but the paranormal investigator in Dib perks up at the sight of something new. Something he hasn’t seen before, and it takes a minute for the awe to subside for him to realize that the stare they were giving him ventured from the human with apparent caution, and to the smiling Irken with notable alarm.

“Inferiors.” Zim speaks, though his voice is a mixture of haughtiness and caution. “Don’t pay them any mind. They’re simply in awe being in the presence of something so AMAZING, such as myself!” He places a hand over his chest in pride, and waves something amiss in Dib’s direction. “And probably impressed by the sheer magnitude of your head. Disgusting.”

“They’re _right there_.” Dib hisses, batting away the offering hand that Zim gives just to stand on his own. Brushing the snow off of his clothes leave faint traces of translucent blue, like pale glitter before it blows away in the breeze with barely a hint behind. “Don’t be rude and anger them!”

Zim barks a laugh. “Stupid boy. They can’t understand a word of what we’re saying, and Zim cares very _little_ of what a few inferiors think.” He turns as he talks off into a random direction, soldier stance in his walk that Dib has to speed up his own pace to keep up with. “Pay them little mind.”

“…Remember who you’re talking to.”

“Allow me to rephrase that.” Zim corrects himself, sending Dib a look when he flashes a toothy grin. “Keep your curiosities to yourself.”

“ _C’mon_.” He keeps pace with Zim well enough, bumping his elbow and sending the (now, increasingly becoming annoyed) Irken a urging look even as his eyes flitter to the passing aliens on the street. “Indulge me.”

The corner of Zim’s mouth downturns into a disapproving frown and Dib has to think quickly in his defense. “I _am_ just a lowly human with no planetary experience, after all.” He presses, and feels satisfaction in the way that Zim’s brow quirks at the sentence. “And this _is_ my graduation gift. It’s only fair.”

Chin held high, Zim taps his chin with one claw, a prideful grin on his face. “Of course you would ask the GREAT ZIM to immerse you! As if there would be anyone better. Very well! Zim will answer your silly, little questions- you _have_ questions, Dib. I can see it in your eyes.- as long as you-!” He points his claw to the human’s nose. “-obey my every order for the entire duration of this stop!”

Such a statement was vague and could be used against him, but Zim was never one for compromise and the ever changing surroundings with new languages on neon signs, different shapes of aliens and noises he’s never seen or heard before was a temptation he couldn’t beat down. Besides, Dib was in unfamiliar territory here. If he really wanted anything to come out of this, research or experience regardless, he was going to have to follow the Irken’s lead. The request at this point was just a formality and a reassurance to the Invader that Dib wasn’t going to run off somewhere. “Fine, but nothing weird or humiliating and I get my freedom back when we reach the ship.”

Zim gives a low cackle, one that turned the head of a few market-goers as they passed by. “Don’t mistake yourself, fool-boy. You are already Irken property.” He jests. “But the terms are agreeable. Now pay attention.”

He pointedly ignores the scrunched look Dib sends him (and the human mumbling ‘freak’ under his breath). The area they’ve wandered into, further into the ‘town’ is filled with shops to the side, booths at every corner and restaurants decorating the sidelines. Zim points to one booth in particular, a layout of _things_ splayed across the tabletop, some in little packages where as others were larger and oddly shaped. Zim names something non-Irken and nothing more than gibberish to his human ears, and when the alien finds confusion in the human’s reaction, he elaborates.

“Food. Snacks and the like.” He nods toward vender, who stares at the both of them with way too many eyes. “A bit like your earth fruits, but I highly doubt they’re actually safe for consumption. Food grown on this planet is hardy and tasteless, so everything must be imported.”

He points off into a another direction, where a sign glowed alien letters over what could possibly pass off as a restaurant. The windows of the building were cracked, but Dib could see the aliens inside, mingling and eating. It looked warm within, and like a safe environment to observe everything. “Let’s go inside.”

“Why? To eat? Eat slop?” Zim glints at him. “Don’t expect high quality service. A planet as isolated and cold as this would bring hardly any visitors, so the population and it’s businesses are small and shambled.”

Well, that was obvious enough. Dib didn’t need a guide to tell him that. The neighboring buildings were all the same, abiet trashed and snow-over. He highly doubted the local here were used to seeing any sort of visitors, which would explain the few mixed looks being sent in their direction. Venders would look up from their customers, glancing at them curiously before mostly turning away, uninterested. A few kept their stares, even when Dib made eye-contact. The diversity of the aliens were many, colors and shapes and heights none-alike, but they’re attitudes towards the pair were the same; cautious curiosity. Dib can’t say that he didn’t relate.

They talk to one another in regular volume, but it’s nothing Dib can translate. There are, however, the soft hushed voices that run quickly over their sentences, eyes that dart to Zim and Dib quickly and back again before huddling away. Dib squints when they pass by an alien (large, octopus looking creature, covered in purple fur with yellowed eyes and what suspiciously looked similar to a top hat upon his head) who wheezes a little too loudly at the human’s approach. Self-consciousness takes over, and Dib keens his ears to listen as he shoves his hands into his trench pockets in a guise of keeping them warm.

As if reading his thoughts, Zim perks up. “He thinks your hair piece thingy is a weapon of some sort.”

 _That_ causes a giggle to rise out of him, and he tries to stifle it when the sound startles a nearby market-goer into taking a few hurried steps away from the pair. “Seriously?”

A nod, and Zim continues, tilting his head at various occupants on the street. Conversations around meld them into background noise until Zim picks one out, antenna twitching, zeroing in on the sound within all other distractions and turns to Dib to translate. “The plakoosian by the snack stand is haggling his prices to a regular. The vendor next to him is talking about his hatchlings to a fellow mate.”

He snorts, and Dib points to a small, six legged alien that scuttled past making a series of clicks and whistles. “Care to translate whatever that was?”

“Curses.” Zim chuckles. “It’s running late for something.”

A squeaky toy noise sounds out from the creature as it rounds the corner in a fit of hurried panic and Dib has to bite his tongue in order to kill the laugh bubbling in his throat. It probably wasn’t fair, he thinks, to find such strange alien behaviors funny when humanity itself could be a laughing stock to the entire galaxy. Still, Dib was a bundle of excited nerves and it was just nearly enough for him to forget about the cold. “Everything here is so fucking weird.”

“Says the stink-boy that’s skin turns blue because his body can’t regulate it’s own body heat.” Zim snarks at him, raising a hand and pinching Dib’s nose (red and pink from the cold, threatening to become runny if he didn’t take care) much to the boy’s chagrin. “ _You’re_ the oddity here. No one here has face parts that change color to something as little as temperature. Fix it before someone gets the wrong idea.”

Dib snaps, not actually meaning to bite but the clack of his teeth get the point across and Zim removes his hand with little more than a grin. “Wrong idea how?”

“Some displays of physical reactions can be taken as a threat or an invitation. Depending on the culture, there are several different meanings.” Zim informs him matter-of-fact, tone set as if he was talking to a child. (Considering Gir, he’s had plenty of practice using it.)

Dib huddles into his jacket as a breeze blows by, curling the fabric of his hoodie closer to his neck. “Care to elaborate?”

“No. Stop with your-” Zim points at Dib’s cheeks, and motions to his own in a flurried movement. “-color changing! It makes your head look like an oversized pimple and I find the sight of it offensive.”

Funny. That’s not what he said before. “I can’t _not_ feel cold, Zim.”

Zim’s response is a disgruntled huff. “Then don’t look at anyone like that. Spare them the suffering.”

He’s not gonna lie, Dib has half a mind to conjure up whatever case of the cold he was currently developing and sneeze right into Zim’s green ugly face. (He’s pretty sure he could have made a booger joke there, but he decides against it.) A creature with fuzzy, thick fur that look wonderfully comfortable sauntered past the two of them and an inkling of jealously flared up. Most of the aliens around him, Zim included, had some sort of winter gear on, but Dib was the only one visibly having trouble adapting to the cold. He distracts himself by focusing on another alien.

“What about that one?” In the most discreet way possible, Dib points to a tall, blue alien with horns and inverted legs leaning against the wall of a one building, eyes busy on a hand-held device.

An antenna stretches in that direction, Zim never losing his speed and Dib having to constantly remind himself not to stray if he wanted to keep up with the alien’s pace. “Vortian. I don’t see their kind much, at least not this far out in the galaxy.” As if hearing him, said alien looks up from their distraction, and eyes widen in something akin to recognition.

Claws curl around the width of Dib’s arm and he’s forced to walk a little quicker. He’s forced to crane his body closer to Zim when he nearly collides with a larger, spiky, side-stepping the pointy parts and giving an what he hopes to be taken apologetic smile as he’s pulled forwards.

Red eyes glance over their shoulder and relax when they’re out of sight. “Vortians do not care for Irkens.”

“I don’t think _anyone_ cares for Irkens.” Dib refutes, ignoring the shiver that trembled his voice. He yanks his arm from Zim’s grip and shoves his hand back into his pockets, pulling at his fingers within the mittens for warmth. Zim’s hand lingers in the air for just a moment before dropping back down to his side. A few curious eyes linger on them, then dart away when the Irken scans the crowd.

Dib squints at a table a few feet away. The vendor seemed harmless enough, though her eyes grew wide once she caught Dib eying her wares. “You’re not exactly a galaxy favorite.”

“NONSENSE! Zim is everyone’s favorite. I’m far too great of an Invader for them not to love me!” He turns and continues marching in a singular direction, pulling Dib away from the market stand the human was beginning to gravitate to. “And If not love, _fear_ will work just as well!”

“Hey, wait a second-!” He drags his feet in the snow in a futile attempt to ground himself. The startled vendor watches him struggle, one tentacle coming over to protect her merchandise. Alien technological parts, some of which he was hoping to snag if he could convince Zim to fork over any sort of currency, assuming Zim wasn’t lying and he even _had_ any currency on him. The human breaks his grip, stumbles into a clumsy walk to keep up with the Invader’s pace before he stands in front of his path. “Wait, just- Wait a second. I want to look at everything here.”

Zim doesn’t stop his stride, brushing past him with little more than a huff. “The technology here is worthless. None of it is Irken Empire quality. You’d be wasting your time-”

Dib is quick to hurry in front of him again. He walks backwards, a stupid idea, but makes it a lot harder for the Irken to ignore his pleas. “Zim, dude, c’mon. Just for a minute.”

Zim is unimpressed. “Pitiful human. So easily entertained by _scrap metal_.” He picks up pace, which only causes Dib to walk backwards faster. “Are you really that willing to stand FREEZE so you can look at a few trinkets?”

Undeterred, Dib’s shrugs and his smile turns sheepish. “I mean, yeah!”

Surprisingly, Zim makes a grab for him. Dib dodges to the side just in time, sidestepping the alien he almost runs into before retaking his place in front, unstopping and with a coy smile. “Just admit you don’t have any money and I’ll drop the issue.” Dib teases, and briefly jumps back when the Invader tries to snag his coat.

They’re drawing a bit of attention, but neither of them notice. “You miserable creature! Zim orders you to stop your embarrassing fleeting!”

“I mean, I totally get it. Nothing to be ashamed of being broke. Unless you know-” He side steps again to avoid running into someone behind him, but quick enough to stay away from grappling claws. “You know, maybe you’re just scared one of these booths has better stuff than you. What if your Irken technology isn’t all what it cracked up to be?”

One of his eyes twitch, fists clenched and Zim’s yell is loud enough to startle a nearby alien into dropping her groceries. “How DARE you make a mockery of ZIM!”

“Five minutes. Just a look around.” He doesn’t tell Zim his plan to acquire a sample one way or another.

A hand lunges out. “You’re as horrible as GIR!”

“What if I say please? Please?” Dib laughs dodges and it blows clouds in front of his face. “ _Pretty please_?”

“Begging? So now the Dib is BEGGING-!?”

Zim cuts himself off just as Dib’s back hits something hard, knocking him from his stride and sending him tumbling forwards. Where he would have landed on Zim, said Invader steps to the side ( _Bastard_ ) and Dib once again finds himself landing face first into toxic snow. He’s on the ground for half a second before he holds himself up by his elbows, spitting out wetness onto the ground before turning to glare at the now-laughing Zim, one hand on his hip, the other pointing incredulously at the human. “HA! Serves you right for disobeying your ruler!”

No lie, it was a touch humiliatingly. Dib doubly makes sure there’s no odd taste in his mouth before snarling back. “Could have warned me.”

“And _why_ would I do that?” Zim wears a shit eating grin and forty different revenge plans begin to form in Dib’s head in a manner of pure habit. A hand thrusts itself into Dib’s view as he wipes his mouth and without thinking, he takes it, pulling himself up and adjusting the slight skew of his glasses. It’s not until he’s looked up with an open mouth for insults does he realize that Zim’s face has faltered, and the hand he was holding onto wasn’t green.

It was mustard yellow, actually. And large, the arm connected to it was bulky and clad in an ugly orange color. Dib lets go of the hand as quickly as if he had just touched fire, amber eyes widening to take in a new alien. Tall and wide, intimidatingly at first glance. It reminded him a bit like a children’s dinosaur toy, with three sets of eyes in the middle of it’s face, hardened ridges trailing down it’s back, poking through it’s uniform, even down the tail that stretched behind it. Though, children’s toys didn’t look like they were made of concrete, and they also didn’t appear as if they could tear you apart with a flex of a pinky.

The alien opens it’s maw to speak, gibberish words coming out in what can only be assumed to be a question, and it takes Dib a moment to realize that it was trying to talk to _him_.

Ah, fuck. “I uh-” He stammers and regrets the way his throat closes up. Whether it’s excitement or fear keeping a knot in his throat, Dib can’t tell the difference. “I can’t understand-”

For the second time in the last thirty seconds, Dib’s face receives a hit. Zim’s hand is slapped over his mouth and the Irken takes no care as to whether or not that meant the bridge of Dib’s glasses painfully hitting him in the forehead. He curses something low and almost bites the palm of his hand when Zim speaks. Three eyes move from Dib to Zim, and the two begin to converse in a series of vowels and clicks that sound like gibberish and random noise to human ears. It was almost memorizing.

Dib stills, keeps himself frozen, and watches as the unnamed creature’s gaze occasionally flitted from Irken to human and back again, an unreadable expression upon it’s face. It looked like it was made of stone, and it’s hand felt solid enough to warrant the theory. Rounded teeth that looked strong enough to crush bone peeked in his mouth every time it spoke, a sharp contrast to Zim’s razor ones but still just as potentially lethal. The uniform it wears was a jumpsuit of a sort that reminded him of a prison uniform, ripped in a few areas and didn’t look very warm.

At some point, one of the eyes breaks from the others and lingers on him, even as Dib steps back and Zim’s hand falls to clasp around his back. Whatever they’re speaking, it’s not Irken, he can tell that much, and Zim’s tone is polite. Stoic and clean, even, though there’s his usual sense of pride carrying in his voice and Dib cannot tell whether he’s currently trying to clean up Dib’s mess and apologize or boast to the massive creature of his many Irken achievements. He wouldn’t surprised if it was a mixture of the two.

Now that he thinks of it….Dib glances around the area. They were on the edge of the market place, where the town began to dip off into barren land and forestry, though a few stragglers remained on the outskirts. A few send curious glances their way, others ignore them completely. Some have fins, others have several limbs. There’s a few creatures he’s certain aren’t even organic, too many robotic parts on their bodies that they don’t look anything natural.

12 year old him would have never dropped his guard so quickly surrounded by so many specimen such as this. Though, one would suppose you would adapt well to being surrounded by the supernatural when you often keep inhuman company.

Something touches the back of his neck and he flinches immediately, the hairs on the back of his neck raising as fingers lightly close around his skin, not tight, but enough to make a point.

Zim’s posture straightens with one hand around his back, the other resting on Dib as he smiles up at the creature, and his mouth stretches a little too wide for his face when he talks. Dib’s face morphs into mortification, but he can do nothing but stand awkwardly stand there like a scuffed cat.

The unnamed alien, (Mustard, Dib thinks. He’ll call it Mustard.) doesn’t make a telling facial expression, though his mouth down turn downwards in apparent confusion from the conversation that Dib was too distracted to even attempt to eavesdrop on. (Not like he would have been able to participate, anyways) before nodding, sparing one last glance and brushing past the Irken and human duo alike. They both of them watch the leaving orange jumpsuit, and the space between them settles into silence.

Dib resists the urge to swallow for the fear that Zim will feel it, but he probably already feels his pulse drumming through his skin. “So…”

Zim’s smile is strained, claws dig a little further into his skin. “I should choke you for your disobedience.”

“…Do it, coward.”

A hiss resounds from the low of Zim’s throat, but his hand drops to his side. “We’ve hardly been here a few minutes and you’ve already made a fool of yourself.” He drags a hand down his face in irritation, pulling the skin down until Dib could see the red flesh that peeked when the Irken tugs at his own eyebags. “Zim should have just sold you.” If he notices Dib’s frown deepen, he doesn’t comment.

“If you get rid of me, you’re not going to have any one willing to listen to your evil schemes for hours on end.” Dib grins even as he buries himself further into his layers. Just a brief moment on the snowy ground was enough to sap the warmth he had so steadily been building up from him. “You would miss me.”

To his delight, Zim visibly gags.

* * *

Further past the edges of the town, (if it can even be called that) the treeline grows thicker. It’s a smooth transition as to what could count for civilization into wilderness, and Dib begins to understand why the ship never could have made it inside.

The trees were tall and thick, dark, rusty red and purple bark similar to the material the buildings were shaped of, but oddly enough pieces flaked into his hand when he scratched his fingernail at the base of one. Although the branches climbed high enough to cover the entire top of the tree line with leaves, the lower branches were nearly leveled with the ground, more often than not causing the two of them to have to duck and squeeze through the tight spaces as the forest grew thicker. There was no way anyone could land a ship here without getting entangled within the jungle.

Though even if the leaves completely covered the sky, he could still see the colors.

They were a clouded clear white, near translucent, and reflected every image it could soak up onto itself. The ever-lasting twilight from the dying sun and the wavelengths it casted in the air was mirrored onto the leaves, which no matter how he twisted, tore and ripped apart, none of which shown being made of glass or crystal. It was a bit disorientating, especially since it was considerably dark still, and the little hand held flashlight he brought out was shining off of every reflective surface, creating little beams of light all over the snow where they walked.

It was pretty. He could look at this forever. Would, actually, if given the chance, but snow was starting to seep into his shoes and Dib was having to massage his fingers to make sure they didn’t go numb at this point. “What _are_ we looking for exactly?”

A flash of light blinds his eyes, and Dib accidently clunks himself in the face with his glasses when he instinctively raises his hands to shield himself. “The fuck?!”

Zim lowers the camera, giving the image on the screen a thoughtful look before nodding, turning back to his march. “Silence, stink-beast. If your pungent smell doesn’t scare them off, your insufferable monkey noises will.”

“Who is _them_?” He insists, only to be met with an repeated sneer. Dib grits his teeth so hard they no longer chatter and wonders how loud he can scream before his voice is heard past the trees and to the unlucky town residing mere minutes away. “Fuck, Zim! I’m freezing here! I’m starting to think you’ve dragged me out here for some sort of creepy alien ritual and wanted a fancy place to bury my body!”

If wasn’t bad already, red eyes narrow in on the way he curls around his arms shoulders, concern flashing momentarily before it is hastily masked and Dib feels bubbling annoyance when Zim snorts at his suffering. “It’s not Zim’s problem you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m about to _make_ it your problem. Move.”

“Wha- UNHAND ZIM!”

In a few short steps, he closes the distance between them, and Dib maneuvers around the (albiet startled) Irken to the Pak on his back and places his hands against the metal. As expected, it’s warmth seeps through his mittens, and Dib is tempted to throw away the last bit of pride he has left for the luxury of resting his cheek on the surface. He resists, if only for fear of being skewered.

Zim’s body has gone ridged, shoulders tense and face locked into a grimace. His hands open and close in fidgets, but he makes no motion to move away. “How could a filthy human like you have the audacity-!”

“We’ve done worse.” That sentence does not come out the way Dib intends it to, but Zim shuts up quickly, and the both of them fall into a silence marred only by Dib’s shiverd breathing.

A breeze blows by and causes the lights bouncing off the leaves to shimmer, brushing snow off the top of branches and making it fall in flurries. Zim fiddles with the buttons of the camera. Dib shuts off the flashlight to save battery.

“Your gift,” Zim starts off. “is supposed to be right here.”

Dib blinks. Twice again, and thrice before realizes he’s completely fogged up his glasses and has to wipe them clear before he can stare at the back of Zim’s head in disbelief. “What.”

“This is where they should be, if Zim remembers correctly- _which I do_ , because my brain is perfect-and all we need to do now is wait for them to appear.” He turns his head just enough to spot Dib from the corner of his eye, the red glow from it shining off of several spots around them. An antenna cranes back and comes up just short of reaching Dib’s skin. “And when that’s done, we will leave.”

There is a null, blank feeling that takes hold of Dib while he processes that information. “So we’re just supposed to stand here?”

“Yes.”

“Until something shows up.”

“I just said that, stupid. Are your ears not working?”

There is a single pause. A long, lingering pause that lasts just enough for a few snowflakes to melt into Dib’s clothes before his hands press against the surface of the Pak _hard_ and Zim is pushed forwards into the snow with a winded yelp. He makes a guttural noise on impact and a comically flails his limbs to turn upright again before glaring at the offending human.

“YOU ATTACK ZIM!” He accuses, scrambling to brush off the snow (it leaves shimmers against his clothes and lingers in the fur of his jacket) before looking back up with bared teeth. “What is the meaning of this utter BETRAYAL-!?”

He’s cut off sharply by a snowball to the face. Snow smacks him and covers his shocked expression completely, nearly knocking him back onto the ground before a single Pak leg juts out to balance him. Zim shakes his vision clear with panicked motions.

Dib is already forming a second snowball with eager hands. “Consider this payback, Spaceboy!”

“What! Treason! Betrayal! Idiot FOOL-BOY! You dare challenge ZIM?! As if you could ever-!” His response is a flying snowball, easily dodged by a slight shift and the projectile flies over his shoulder, inches from his head. With both hands on hips, Zim throws his head back to laugh at the pathetic attempt. “HA! SEE? You are no match for-” A third one splats him in the middle of his face.

Dib is hurriedly working on his fourth when something glints out of the corner of his eye, and he barely stumbles over the dropped camera and flashlight in his escape from the flailing of limbs that made up Zim. “Listen up, freak!” He watches Zim’s antenna spike up at the insult and grins at small gasp of offense. “I’ve had enough of your stupid games!”

Said freak was skidding across the snow and desperately trying to make a few poorly formed ammunition of his own. Snow balls weren’t so easy to form with only three fingers. “Oh, Zim isn’t playing games, Dib-stink! So don’t worry!” A speeding projectile clips Dib in the shoulder, shoving him back as the attacker laughs. “The snow is only toxic to your miserable organs if it’s _ingested_!”

Dib throws what ammunition he has on hand, (which comes out more like a pathetic toss considering his position on the ground) and it buys him just enough time to scramble for the nearest cover; a tree with a trunk barely wide enough to give him complete shelter. He forms two small snowballs in quick succession. “You are a sadistic piece of scum, you know that?”

It’s said in playful jest, but a provoking insult regardless. Zim’s cackle resounds somewhere from within the darkness, and Dib catches a shimmer of green on a few leaves. “Is that why you’re hiding, Dib? Afraid of something?”

Dib hears footsteps approach and throws the snowballs one after the other. He hears the first miss, splattering against another tree somewhere, and Zim is halfway through another boat of laughter and an insult to his intelligence when smack sound of the second hits it’s mark. “I’LL STEAL YOUR LIVER.”

Been there, done that. Dib risks another glance around the tree. It’s dark, but the glint of something white shimmers on the reflections of the leaves which is more than enough warning he needs to duck. Something flies over his head, through his hair and splattered somewhere behind him. Footsteps sound in rhythm, cautious on their own accord and he must work quickly to gather as much snow as possible in his arms.

Zim’s night vision certainly put him at a disadvantage. He couldn’t sneak up on him, not with every leaf in the vicinity giving away his position. Besides, he could very well use the volume of Dib’s own pulse against him. The Irken had the upper hand in all areas, including reflex and strength. Zim knows Dib has himself cornered. He expects him to try and escape anyways, dart off to another tree and keep firing from a distance.

“Dib.” His voice is inching closer, just around the tree. The footsteps stop and a chuckle resounds from the empty space. He’s taking his time for the theatrics. “Ready to accept your freezing fate-?”

What Zim does not expect, however, is for Dib to rush at Zim full speed, throw himself at him in the most ungraceful way possible and pin him down by his weight.

Whatever ammunition Zim had is knocked out of his hand with a surprised yelp, Dib planting both of his knees on each side of the Invader’s torso and holding him down with a straddle. All weight pressed against him, Zim’s Pak sinks into the harden snow as Dib raises a snowball (as large as he could possibly get it without it falling apart) and holds it high over their heads. “It’s over Zim! Your evil villainy has come to an end!”

Daze dissipates as fear overtakes Zim’s face. Any attempts to pry Dib off of him are lost in the shock factor. “Wait!”

“Die, alien!”

He throws the snowball down, smashing it over Zim’s face and pressing the hardened snow downwards even Zim screams curses in Irken and his limbs flail for some sort of freedom. Dib laughs at the sight, a joyful, lighthearted kind of laugh that made the center of his chest felt warmer than any other part of his body.

After three seconds exactly, the flailing stops, and Zim’s legs and arms drop limp to the ground. Dib catches his breath over him, a few giggles escaping his throat even as the cold air burns his throat in the process. “Okay, okay. I’m done.” He chuckles, forcing himself to clear his throat. “I’m done. Promise. Fights over. I win.”

No response. What left over amusement that remained disappears and a coiling alarm begins to fill it’s place. Dib’s smile drops the longer that Zim is silent. He presses his palm into the Irken’s shoulder, shaking him. “Zim, I won. Stop being dramatic.”

Silence. Panic rises as fast as his heartbeat. He brushes away the snow remaining on the alien’s face, eyes closed and tongue sticking out of his mouth in a nearly comical scene, but all laughter has left him. “Hey? Zim?” Dib shakes him again, harder. “ _Zim?!_ ”

Sharp teeth curl up into a grin. One red eye peeks open. “Yesss?”

It takes a moment for the panic and realization to process. “…Die.”

“Are you sure?” Zim’s voice is full of smugness and it makes Dib want to figure out a way to vomit all over him if only to put the germaphobe through some well deserved revenge. Instead, Dib snarls at him and blow air into his face hoping that action alone would be enough to annoy him, before adjusting himself to stand-

Claws wrap around his wrists, keeping them locked in place and effectively pining the human back to the Irken. Dib furrows his brows.“…Hey-”

“ _Don’t. Move._ ” Zim whispers. It’s low, nothing like his usual volume. His expression has turned alarmed, or maybe focused, and it’s not centered on Dib’s face rather the space right above it. When he speaks again, it is slow and cautious. “Congrats, stinky. It appears that they’ve found your helicopter landing pad size of a head a perfect place to rest.”

Insult aside, there is now a very, very slight weight pressing against the cowlick of his hair, and it’s enough to cause his heart to skip. Dib slowly brings his hand up to feel for the intrusion, gently closing around the fluttering thing and bringing it down.

Small delicate wings. Three, puny marble eyes that glaze up at him. A light, fluffy creature as white as the snow.

* * *

They do not have names.

There is no named legend, or myths, the stories simply exist to describe the creatures in detail and what they do, (or might do) for you. Word of mouth traveling from one alien civilization to the next until the story died out along with the knowledge of their existence, puny things, hardly worth any significance noting. Their sentience was questionable, and they housed a dense, reflective forest on a freezing planet with a dying sun. Dib is not surprised to hear that these creatures, alien or otherwise, are so forgotten that not even a name is remembered for them.

Still, as he lays on his back on the ground, one arm up towards the sky and several of these creatures fluttering around the outstretched fingers, there is something undeniably magical about them.

Each one is a different color. Maybe the same type, blues and greens and reds and pinks, but the shades are all different. They cast glows onto each other that mix with the dark of the night, the shimmers from the sky, the leaves that reflected the stars and made it look like they weren’t even in a forest, but surrounded by nothing but open space that stretched farthest into the horizon with barely the outline of any trees. The effect, however, is ruined when Zim uses a Pak lazor to light a fire just to keep Dib from ‘sniveling’ about the cold any longer.

They’re affectionate creatures. Unafraid of strangers, and lacking any sense of personal boundaries. They tickle the skin of his fingers now that he’s taken his gloves off, brush against his cheek and nestle in his hair. Two have taken a liking to his cowlick. A few of them use Zim’s antenna as a perch, and they’re so light in weight that he doesn’t even notice if a few more were to land on him.

Wishes. Zim told him they could grant _wishes_.

(The white one sits underneath Dib’s chin. It doesn’t like to fly as much as the others.)

“Much like your ‘fairy’ myths, these creatures are rumored to grant wishes, or at least provide aid in getting what you want.” Zim pokes at the fire with a stick, sitting next to the prone Dib with his legs crossed. “You’re so obsessed with stories and beasts of legends that Zim figured you might want to meet one that didn’t try to kill you at least once.” A pause. “Myself included.”

Dib spins his fingers, his free hand petting the one huddled underneath his chin like it was colder than he was. “What’s the catch?”

“These aren’t like your _Earth_ fairies, Dib.”

“There’s always a catch.” Amber trails to red in the firelight, and Dib keeps his gaze locked with his longer than he’s usually comfortable with. “There’s too much risk in magic like this. Nothing grants wishes for free. Not genies, not leprechauns, and not fairies simply because they’re _space_ fairies. There’s always a price.”

Zim’s face is neutral, staring at him for a long moment. Dib feels nervousness crawl up his throat and only swallow when the Invader breaks eye contact, staring into the fire with a thin line across his mouth. “Zim has done this before. It works.”

A pause. Dib sits up suddenly, (unfortunately, startling a few floating friends as he did so, but they drift back down soon enough) and glaring into the side of Zim’s cheek with apparent focus. The white ball of fluff makes a small squeak noise as it tumbles down from it’s spot, but Dib catches it in his hand and holds it closely to his chest. “Elaborate.”

“It _works_.” Zim repeats. For an Irken that can regulate his body heat well enough, he seems pretty focused on tending to the flames. “You just think of something you want, and then you get it. The concept is simple enough your primitive brain should be able to understand it.”

Dib guff's at him. “It _can’t_ be that simple. And when have you done this before anyways?”

Antenna relaxed. Zim ignores him. Dib sighs, plops back down onto the ground and doesn’t care if one of his legs just so happened to end up resting on the alien’s lap. He’s also tired, maybe not in the same way that Dib is, but the shadows under his eyes are telling enough.

In the middle of the forest on an alien planet, holding something soft and yet magically powerful against his chest, Dib is surprised to find exhaustion the left over feeling overtaking his body.

Not the bad exhaustion, but the good kind. Like the tired relief you feel after a long day, with too much work and stress pulling at you physically and mentally, and you plop down on your bed to release all the tension in the body. Adrenaline and excitement had left him drained, new information and curiosities shifted through his mind at several speeds.

New aliens. New places. Far from home. Far from dad, and those pesky responsibilities of being a Membrane. There’s no crushing weight of growing up out in space, no need to worry about college or getting an apartment or jobs and silly things like that. He’s got a snarky, loud alien as travel partner and ship mate, along with his chaotic toddler sized robot, and a sister that didn’t mind it if he took long trips as long as he came back to her eventually. The entirety of the galaxy was open to explore, along with others. He could investigate mysteries for as long as he managed not to die in the process. Earth and beyond.

He glances at the Irken from the corner of his eye. Zim’s face is huddled by a few the ‘fairies’, one of which sits on the center of his face, comfortable in it’s perch. It’s an…odd sight. Annoyances aside, Zim has done horrible tortures, ripped apart creatures far stronger than Dib right in front of his eyes, nearly done so to Dib himself, and killed many more lives as an Irken soldier than the human could probably even fathom.

Such a lethal, feral creature was sitting with Dib’s leg draped over his lap, his claw outstretched for the fairies to sit upon, and a content smile illuminated by firelight.

…Dib could live with this.

Yeah. He could live with this for the rest of his life if he had to. He’d be okay with that. Him. Maybe even…

A brief thought appears only for a moment before Dib bites his tongue and locks that hope far back into the depths of his mind.

For whatever reason, Zim stills. Dib closes his eyes and decides to not look at his reaction with his next words. “Thanks for this. I loved it.” He throws one arm over his eyes and prays that’s enough to stop the Irken’s night vision from detecting the flush flaring up in his skin. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

It takes a considerable amount of willpower not to open his eyes an gage Zim’s expression with the following silence. The urge becomes even stronger when he feels a hand come to rest over his leg. He can _feel_ Zim’s eyes boring holes into him. The

“…What did you wish for?”

Confusion overrides the embarrassment well enough for Dib to peek one eye open. “What?”

Expectedly, Zim’s staring at him intensely, eyes flitting down to the creature held against his chest. He points at it matter-of-fact. “They only gain color when they’re wished upon.”

Silence for a second. Dib sits up with more alarm than what was necessary and unfolds his hand from his chest. What was white and fluffy before was no longer, and in his hand sits a ‘fairy’ blue in color, shades wavering and perking up at him with affection.

Oh.

_Oh, no._

“How do I take it back?” Dib questions quickly, alarm rising and cupping his hands around the creature so as to not let it escape. It slips through his fingers easily, as if it had no bones to worry about breaking, and floats to join the others despite his rising panic. “Zim? How do I take it back? How do I take the wish back?!”

Zim squints at the suddenly animated Dib. “You…can’t. You can’t take it back. It’s permanent.” He talks slowly, watching as Dib’s face turns from fidgeting nervousness to mortification. Eye contact lingers until Zim’s face lightens up, an evil grin taking hold on him. “You wished for something STUPID, didn’t you?”

Dib’s skin feels both a flashing hot and cold, and he blantidly turns away from the laughing Irken. “You DID? DIDN’T YOU?! HA!” Zim cackles, standing to his full height if only to mock him from a higher vantage point. “You can’t lie to me, Dib! I can see it written all over your ugly face! You wasted it! Your only wish!” He is surprisingly more pleased in the assumption than one would expect, though Zim never shied from letting Dib know his suffering in any form was a form of entertainment.

Mummering under his breath, the human stands from the campfire, dusting himself off and marching away from there. Anywhere from there, he didn’t care where he went as long as it gave him enough time to find a spot where he could throw his red face into the snow for a few minutes and figure out a good lie.

Unfortunately, Zim is quick to on his heels, and Dib finds himself linked in arms with an Irken who’s much too nosy for his own good. Zim’s voice is loud in his ear and much too close for Dib’s liking at the moment, jabbing his thumb into the human’s chest with every emphasis. “What was it, huh? Did you wish for a smaller head? _I bet you did._ Right? Zim is right? Eh? EH?”

Dib nearly trips on his own feet in an attempt to pry him off. “Fuck off.”

“What was it? TELL ZIM. Zim demands you tell him right now!” When Dib doesn’t budge, Zim gasps in mock offense. “Do you not trust Zim? Is that it? Too bad. Reveal the secret to me anyway.”

Dib kicks out a him the same moment Zim steps forwards, throwing off the balance and sending them both to the ground. Even from the snow, he can hear the sound of those damned fairies fluttering above them, watching. There’s no telling as to how sentient they are but if anything had to be an audience to the start of Dib Membrane’s eventual downfall, it had to be floating magical puff balls, because that’s just his luck.

This was fine. This was perfectly fine. He could ignore this. Completely. There wasn’t even a guarantee to Zim’s story and for all Dib knew, the entire thing could have been a lie. Maybe. That thought doesn’t help the anxiousness that dots his skin and twitches his fingers.

The blue one stares at him with wide, puny little red eyes. It knows too much for Dib’s liking. He spares it one last glance before standing, turning away and walking as quickly as he can manage without looking suspicious. “Let’s just go already.”

“WHAT?” Zim has up righted himself from his tumble, catching up to Dib in less than a second. He opens his mouth to yell, realizes something, and his expression dulls a bit. “Oh. Yes. You wanted to see the market. Eat the inferior foods and the like.” He waves a hand non-chalant before sighing. “I suppose I can pity you enough for that.”

To be completely honest, Dib isn’t even hungry, but he’ll take a change of topic and a new opportunity to inspect alien culture in a heartbeat. “It would be nice-”

“Tell Zim your secret or starve.”

Dib deadpans at him. “I’ll stick with the rations on the ship, then.”

Zim matches his stride and begins to speak before pausing, quiet for a moment before uttering lowly. “Did we ever lock the rations drawer before we left Gir?”

“…I thought you did?”

Matching looks already give away the answer, and the both of them cradle their faces in their hands. Unfortunately, (or fortunately, for Dib that is) that trip to the market place is going to be inevitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things were changed from my initial concept doodles. For example; Gir was actually supposed to go with them during the trip into the town/forest but it would have made future events harder to explain and keep smoother, so he had to be banned to ship guard duty. Sorry Gir. Eat all the rations.


	4. Irken Soda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter where Dib gets drunk, learns a little bit of info, gets into a bar fight because of said info and it all ends with him talking a little too much. Zim is on the edge of a breakdown, Dib is getting closer to the truth, blood is drawn and lines are crossed, and new enemies arrive. Also: cheesy alien pick-up lines are said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slaps this bad boy here* I like how the middle portion of this fic goes along but there are some parts that just still don't sit with me right, but ah well
> 
> NOTE: This chapter contains violence, gore, blood, (including descriptions of bones breaking) drinking (sorta), intoxication, vomit and a character showing symptoms of PTSD and lashing out. Funny enough, this won't be the most violent chapter, but that's what you need to know so far.

The marketplace, for the most part, is about the same as when they left it, save for a lighter crowd in what Dib assumes to be due to the dinner hour of this planet. Though, whoever did remain cast curious and cautionary glances towards the two of them as they trekked back into civilized state and further from the reflective forest. The sudden attention takes some getting used to, and Dib subconsciously brushes off his coat for leaves and snow just in case.

Zim approaches a vendor with what looked to be ‘edible’ rations layered out and does all the talking, and it gives Dib plenty of time to count pairs (or trios, or quads) of eyes that peek in their direction.

Zim doesn’t appeared bothered by the many gazes. If anything, this was exactly his style. Part of Dib expects him to stop in the middle of the and go off on a ramble about his achievements and greatness as a all mighty Irken soldier as everyone gawks at him, and is only partially surprised when the alien simply keeps his head straight. Most of the stray glances stay on him, no doubtidbly to him being an Irken. There was a aura of unease that seemed to trail wherever he went, even to the aliens that showed a little indifference.

Dib glances shifts a little on his feet, hands curled up into his pockets and scrunching in on himself. He couldn’t stay in one place. Curiosity demanded he explore a little further than what Zim would allow. That, and the fidgets and nervousness tingling in his fingers weren’t due to the cold, but if the Irken asked then Dib would lie either way. Maybe he could convince Zim to let him wander for a bit. Not far, not on the other side of the planet or anything, just far enough where he could think of a lie about his wish good enough even Zim would believe it.

The unlucky vendor Zim has cornered is in the midst of explaining something Dib can’t understand. Though it keeps Zim’s attention enough he’s able to take a few steps away, checks again, and continues walking further when Zim doesn’t immediately whip his head around to scold him. As long as he remembers where this booth is, finding his way back shouldn’t be too hard, and he doesn’t travel too far anyways.

He gets less wearied glances when he’s alone, though some aliens do spout something harsh at him when he nearly trips over a tentacle trailing behind them in the road. Paranormal research potential aside, this was actually a quaint, nice little town, despite it’s rigidness and shabby exterior. There was something charming and festive about the market’s many vendors, and the chatter of many languages and other sounds Dib has never heard before was fascinating. He’ll need to ask Zim how he ever came across such a place, and if there was a chance Dib could visit some more.

A wind breezes through and several aliens adjust their winter gear the same way Dib curls further into his jacket. Maybe, if he can convince Zim to take him anywhere else like this, he’d prefer someplace where he wouldn’t have to worry about catching frostbite.

He follows where the snow melts into concrete and dirt tracks, probably due to the high traffic footwork. It leads down a wide alley, with an array of doors and windows and neon signs barely illuminated. It wasn’t a populated street. Everyone seemed to be indoors, and the noise within the buildings seemed to confirm that theory. There were one or two aliens leaning against the walls and minding their own business, but for the most part, the alleyway was quiet.

One of the windows, Dib recognizes, belongs to a restaurant they had passed prior. Inside were aliens of every nature, some in groups, some alone, all eating or drinking or conversing as would be commonly found an Earth’s equivalent of a bar or café. The sight of food actually brings a small rumbling to Dib’s stomach, but no telling if anything servable in the restaurant was something Dib could digest without poisoning himself. He didn’t have any money, anyways.

He finds a spot away from the windows, leans against the brick of the wall and works on breathing warmth into his mittens.

…Certainly, there’s no way that wish was guaranteed to come true, right?

Zim must have been pulling his leg, or misinformed about the matter of fairies and wishes somehow. Whatever ‘proof’ he had of it working must have been a lie or coincidence, because in all the years of his paranormal obsession has Dib ever prove that fairies were true to such myths. No, there was always disaster that followed once associated with them, and besides the selfish reason for such a wish, that alone was worrying.

Granted wishes do not come without harm, and if Zim was telling the truth, it would mean two things: that soon Dib’s embarrassing secret would bring disaster to him or the both of them, and Zim has already done this before and survived it. The only hope he could have is that the alien was either lying, wrong in some way, or Dib wasn’t worthy enough to be granted such a fate. It’s not that he _really_ wanted that. At least, not in the literal sense. Not in the kind of way fairies twist the wishes to suit their own amusement. Not if mean harm was to become of them.

 _Space fairies_ , though, Dib has no experience with. They weren’t charismatic, they weren’t deceitful nor did they make any sort of deals or demand payment. There was only an unheard desire and a flash of color that matched the intensity of Dib’s face, and that was it. Anti-climatic. Maybe it was a farce after all, and (unfortunately) wishes aren’t granted in a mysterious forest on an artic planet like Zim believes.

Dib breaks from his thoughts when a gust of wind breezes past and makes his exposed skin tingle to the chill. With a sigh, he steps off the wall, turns heel in the direction he thinks he may have left Zim and steps forward-

Something presses against the back of his head and Dib freezes. “Give me all your money or blow a hole in that massive cranium of yours.”

Fear and shock last maybe two seconds. Three things register; whoever is speaking did so in English, the insult to his headsize is very telling, and there’s only one voice in the universe that sounds like _that_.

Dib turns his head. Zim has two pointed claws in front of his eyes, hand shaped into a finger gun. He flicks his wrists and clicks his tongue at the same time, ‘shooting’ the human in between the eyes. “Dead.”

Dib wrinkles his nose. “I don’t feel very dead.”

“Because you’re lucky that Zim is the one who found you first.” Zim drops his hand to his side, haughty scold in his voice. He’s holding a paper bag in his other hand. “If I were anyone else, you would already be dead.”

It’s an uncomfortable reminder that Dib is unknown territory, but his pride doesn’t back down so easily. “I can hold out on my own, thanks.” His response is something thwacking him in the forehead.

“Here.” Zim snatches the ration bar mid-air when it falls from Dib’s forehead and lightly bonks him until the human is irritated enough to snatch it from him. “These should be edible to you and provide you adequate nutrients for two days if there’s nothing left on the ship. I don’t promise it will taste good, though.”

Dib inspects the item, noting the bag that Zim was currently stashing away into his Pak and figuring that’s where the rest of it was. “What does it taste like?”

Zim plucks the granola bar from his hands and stows it away as well. “To you? A human equivalent would be apples and peanut butter.”

“What if I’m allergic to peanuts?”

“Then starve and die.” Zim huffs “But you’re not allergic. Zim would have already known about this weakness long ago if you had such a vulnerability anyways.”

Dib frowns, eyes briefly glancing to the nearby bar. Assuming Gir has already ransacked their supplies, he was just going to have to settle for eating vaguely peanutty ration bars for the next two days without any much substance in his stomach. Zim follows his gaze to the window, flickering among the patrons and their plates and all but sighs. He cocks his chin up in the air as he turns heel and heads in the direction of the door. “ _Humans_.”

Dib blinks in surprise, watching as Zim pauses only to turn and stare at him expectantly once he reaches the door. In the low neon lights, Dib notes, Zim looks so much older from when they were kids. “What?”

“Zim is buying you dinner, fat-head. I can read your thoughts all over your pathetic face. I don’t want to hear your whining when we get back to the ship.”

Dib’s expression must have brightened a little too quickly, because the alien almost snorts as the human joins him at the entrance and nearly squishes the Irken aside getting inside the building. He almost regrets the enthusiasm when Zim grumbles something about ‘high maintence’ and more ‘evidence that humans would make weak and pitiful servants’, but a rush of warm air and what smelled like bourbon and something akin to cinnamon filled the air, and Dib could care less about odd glances his entrance seemed to have attracted.

The place looked more alike a bar than a cafe now that he was inside it. Well heated, it seemed, and a welcome feeling to his fingers and his cheeks even if the sudden temperature change made his skin sting a little. There were tables strewn about the place with some patrons seated as such, as well as a few huddled over the bar and some stragglers standing around in groups conversing. Music played in the background at a low volume, nothing that Dib had ever heard before, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant to the ears.

Aliens of all nature were present, some much bigger than him, some quite a lot smaller. There seemed to be a food serviceable to everyone present. A globby alien ‘ate’ by absorbing his plate entirely while a snake-like creature had a tentacle coiled around a cup, a forked tongue flicking out to the liquid. It was probably rude to stare, but no one noticed as Dib took in his surroundings with fascination until a clawed hand yanked on the back of his hoodie and steered him to two empty seats at the bar.

“This is not one of your paranormal investigations, stink-boy. Don’t cause any trouble.” Zim hisses into his ear, and Dib is in the midst of quietly cursing at the way his feet dragg against the floor like a troublemaker being dragged by his ear. He whisper yells in a way that’s only natural to Zim. “You swore to abide by Zim’s orders and I demand that you….you….-” He thinks for a minute, waving a free hand. “Not do the things you usually do!”

“You? _You_ out of all people telling _me_ to behave? I’ll have you know that compared to you, I am a perfect saint.” Dib scoffs at him, settling into a stool the alien shoved him towards. Zim sits to his right and sneers at him until Dib relents. “Yeah, okay. No ‘investigating’ the all the cool aliens around me. I get it. Kill-joy.”

“You are offensive to the eyes.”

A shadow approaches them and the both of them go quiet in a new presence. The bartender, which appears to be shorter, fuzzy pink alien with a football shaped head, teddy bear ears and a apron to boot stood in front of them. Dib blinks, waits for the new alien to speak but they simply stare at the two boys without blinking any of their three eyes, cleaning a mug with a dirty rag while locked in a dead gaze. “Uh-”

Zim cuts him off, not with coherent words but in a manner of hissing mixed with a few vowels that no human should be able to replicate. The alien’s head turns from Dib to Zim with little change in facial expression (though Dib certainly hopes that the slight upturn on the corners of it’s wide mouth is a welcoming gesture) before nodding, turning on it’s heel and fixing something from behind the counter.

Dib mindlessly feels for the translator in his pocket when Zim turns back to him, slipping his arms out of his jacket. “Zim ordered for you. You’re welcome.”

Considering the growing warmth in the room, shedding a layer seemed like a good idea and Dib peeling off his heavy coat and settled it in his lap. “Ordered something to poison me? You think I trust you enough to not to give me something that’ll make me sick to my stomach?”

Zim leans forwards onto the bar with a smirk. “You wouldn’t have to trust me. You would consume unsafe foods out of your own morbid curiosity and for the sake of your stupid research.”

Dib shrugs in jest, mirroring Zim’s movements if all for the familiarity. The presence of so many aliens around him was exciting, sure, but one of the first rules of paranormal investigation safety was to be on your guard at all times (a habit that Dib needs to strongly work on) “Ha ha, you’re hilarious-” Zim agrees with him before Dib can cut him off- “What did you order?”

“Something equivalent in chemical make-up to fast food on your planet.”

“I don’t trust that.”

Zim snorts at him. “Eat it anyways or I’ll stuff it down your gut. It might be the only filling meal that you get for the next two days and I have no intention of-”

“Hearing me whine, yeah, yeah I get the idea.” Dib cuts him off in the mockerey of Zim’s voice, (he thinks he nailed the nasally rasp the Irken has) and grins at the offense that flashes across Zim’s face. “You seem like you’ve been here before.” A pause, Zim squints at him so Dib begins to clarify. “Here, as in this actual establishment. Not the fairy thing. I already know about that.” Another mystery he doesn’t have answers for.

Claws tap against the countertop in a motion that Dib recognizes Zim does without realizing. They make little tak-tak noises that are drowned out by the surrounding chatter. “So? What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything.” Dib grins at him. “I didn’t realize you had life outside of Earth.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Zim hardly pauses when the bartender arrives, places two cans and a filled plate in front of them. Without pausing in conversation, Zim pulls the USB of alien currency out of his pocket, slides it across the counter and the bartender takes it and disappears as quickly as they came. “Zim’s life doesn’t revolve around a filthy planet with no future, or any of the pathetic inhabitants residing on it.”

If that was supposed to be a jab at Dib, it doesn’t sting much. It’s an odd feeling, since before such sayings would put the so-self-declared defender of humanity on edge, but the weight behind such threats were watered out long ago in their relationship. (Though, he wonders if its safe to be so casual around the subject.)

“So you…come here often?” Dib asks. It’s a valid question, but he inwardly slaps himself in the face as soon as the sentence leaves his mouth. “I mean, like-”

“Zim knows what you meant. You are ridiculously stupid. No, I don’t come here often. This planet is cold and full of rubbish and inferior species. I have no interest in lingering in a place that doesn’t suit me.” Zim plucks what looks to be some sort of fries off of the plate. It looks pretty equivalent to what Earth French fries looked like, except they were a startling shade of blue and smelled like salted caramel. “Zim comes here only when necessity demands it.”

He says it so seriously you wouldn’t think that he considers flying a human out to the stars to hunt down space fairies as vital. Dib snorts, grabbing one of the can and fiddling with the aluminon top if just to keep his hands busy as he talks. “And wishing on fairies is a necessity?”

Zim stuffs a few more fries into his mouth, so his voice comes out stuffed as he speaks. “Yes, that was one of more pleasant trips to deal with on this planet. My usual business here isn’t as mundane.”

“Business? Like there have been other reasons?”

Zim pauses mid swallow, and one could see the metaphorical gears turning in his head. Dib squints at him, squinting harder to be dramatic when Zim doesn’t elaborate and instead cracks open his own drink and chugs rather obnoxiously. The bartender’s three eyes can be felt staring at him in surprise from the other side of the counter a few feet away.

If there was one thing a paranormal investigator needed to be good at, it was to make interrogations seem as casual and innocent as ever. It’s laughable that Zim has fallen for that trick more than once, and Dib can thank his habit to ramble for that.

“Business as in…what? What are we talking about here? Market deals? Assassination contracts? You can’t just say ‘business’ all mysterious like and not explain.” Dib is promptly ignored by the sound of gulping. “If you’re hiding something like doing Empire shit behind my back, I swear I’m going to-”

Zim slams the (now empty) can back onto the counter and it’s crushed by the impact. “None of your beezwax.”

“You can just admit you don’t have friends.”

“SILENCE. You know of nothing!”

“So you have a social life out here.” Dib states, and Zim literally groans in agitation at the human’s persistence.

A few stray eyes turn towards their direction, before quickly glancing away in disinterest. Among them, Dib spies a familiar shade of mustard yellow and the pointed shape of a Vortian in the corner. As soon as their eyes meet, they turn away, though a shiver of anxiety runs though him until Zim interrupts his attention with a sputter.

“Social…meetings! Yes, just that. For the ship parts. And snacks. And And other things. Nothing you need to be concerned about. Stop with your questions, they are irritating.” He gestured absently to the fries and can Dib was holding. “Eat already so we can leave.”

Fries are disappearing rapidly from the plate and Dib quickly snatches one before Zim could consume it all. “I have many friends, more friends than your puny mind can even perceive! Zim is _very_ popular. I have MANY connections. Useful connections.” The alien talks with french fries in his teeth and haughtiness in his voice. “You are simply jealous of that fact. Wallow in it.”

Dib pops the French fries in his mouth. It’s texture is grainy and tastes of apple, but not bad enough to spit out. Swallowing takes a little bit of effort though when there’s a suddenly sour aftertaste, and he coughs as he fiddles with the drink can’s lid. “Sure, why not.” He lets Zim have his own little victory despite his ego if only to drop the alien’s guard, so he ignores the smug little look that the aliens gets.

The can cracks open with a carbonated hiss and Dib brings it up to his nose. It smells sweet like sugar, but with a faint smell of cinnamon. “Are you sure this is safe for me to drink?”

“Irken soda is a popular choice across all galaxies because of it’s chemical make-up being safe for nearly all species. There’s similar drinks on your planet, I think.” Zim finishes off the last of the fries. “I do not remember which one it resembles though. Zim prefers the cinnamon flavor. It is the superior one.”

That would explain the smell. Dib hesitates before tilting it back, preparing for something to burn like acid in his mouth or at least taste horrible like grime and sludge. He can see Zim peering at him with mild interest into he corner of his eye. Dib wouldn’t hold it against him to lie just to watch the human sputter at drinking something nasty, though he hopes that's as far as the alien’s mischief would be willing to go. If he’s lucky, Zim wouldn’t go as far as to poison him for some laughing points.

It _does_ burn, but not in a bad way. His tongue tingles and the feeling slides back until it goes down his throat and Dib pulls back the can, shoulders hunched up and shaking his head at the strong taste. “This-” He coughs for a moment. “This is _soda_?”

“Irken Soda.” Zim repeats, pushing the empty plate away from himself. Dib looks warily to the empty can of Zim’s own drink and back down at his own. What an odd tasting thing. Then again, his sister was pretty obsessed with poop-cola back in their middle school days, even though it tasted like trash. Maybe it was an acquired taste?

Dib tilts the drink back a second time and doesn’t shudder (too badly) as he downs the second gulp. “Not bad. Tastes like a dollar store candle.”

“Zim doesn’t know what that means but I’m going to assume it’s a compliment.” The alien rises from his seat and frowns when Dib raises to follow him. “Stay put. Zim will be back for you.”

“What? Wait, hold on. Didn’t you just yell at me for separating earlier?” Dib furrows his brows, sipping at a pause. It gets easier to swallow with each time. “Where are you going?”

It’s a fleeting look, one that’s hard to catch and only caught because Dib has had enough practice looking out for the sort of thing, but Zim’s pupil-less eyes shift ever so slightly to the space behind him. Dib has to fight the reflex he has in order not to turn around and give away the fact that he was onto him. Instead, he taps his fingers around the can and waits in the pause it takes for Zim to answer him, abiet vaguely. “Business, Dib.”

Dib sips at his soda. “Uh huh.”

“I’m buying more parts for the ship.” Zim has an odd look about him, shoulders straightens and all the posture of a soldier addressing a underling. Dib quietly notes that without the jacket, he appears very much more the image of an Irken soldier in his uniform than he does a marketing tourist. “In case you haven’t noticed, your a species no one has ever seen before, not on this planet. I don’t want your stink-head mugging up my transactions.”

“Sure, sure. Don’t let me keep you.” Dib folds his arms over the counter. The can was about halfway empty now. “I’ll be here. You know, behaving.”

Zim deadpans at him before walking around Dib, but not before the human feels a bit of mirth rise in his throat at the sight. Messing with the Invader was always a joy, despite the fact that Zim was clearly and badly lying to him about something. Though, Dib couldn’t count on his fingers fully how many secrets the Irken had that he was unwilling to speak of just yet. Trustworthy friend, partner or not, Dib’s eyes track the Irken’s back until he melds in with the rest of the crowd, sticking to the wall.

A smaller, cloaked figure sitting alone rises from their seat. The blur of the action catches his eye, and Dib watches as they move slowly to the direction where Zim disappears off to. He didn’t realize it before, but said creature was sitting at a fairly close distance to them, able to watch them both and leave without notice if need be. They blend in well with the crowd, completely covered by their winter cloak despite being quite warm in the builder (and getting warmer and warmer by the feeling of his skin, Dib begins to notice) that he’s having a hard time seeing their face, skin, or any of details that would clue as to what they were.

They looked small, about the size of a child and as unnoticeable as one. Though, as they walk away and join the blurring crowd, Dib squints at a detail. The cloak did it’s part to conceal them mostly, but he can recognize the bulge of a Pak from a mile away.

Dib downs the rest of the soda in one go, (cringes at the hot taste it leaves in his throat) and leaves the can on the counter to rise from his seat. Zim said not to interfere with any of his ‘business’ sure, but he never said anything against Dib spying on him, and damn him if Dib wasn’t going to give up his investigation tendencies now-

He gets one step away from the stool and something hits him. Not literally, but the air suddenly feels heavy, his body lighter, and Dib nearly falls to the floor and is saved only by his reflex to grip the stool, lean back against the counter and blink in dumbfounded confusion.

Blinks once, twice. Dib settles back against the stool to collect himself, half of his mind yelling at him to follow the two Irkens and figure out what scenario was happening and the other half panicking at the idea that maybe, just maybe, Zim _did_ non-lethally poison him out of spite or some sort of morbid idea of a joke and left him at the counter to deal with the reaction while he took care of whatever shifty business he needed to do while Dib was preoccupied with trying to collect his senses.

He looks back out into the crowd, frowns when he sees no signs of the ‘suspects’ and turns back to stare at the coutertop.

“I’m gonna kill him.” He mummers to no one. “Tells me not to run off and then leaves me here on my own. Poisons me…” Fingers tap against the counter in agitation. There’s a increasing drum in his ears and a bubbling lightness in his head that skews his focus, he’s too busy running over revenge pranks in his mind to notice the seats on either side of them move as two creatures take their place.

The shadow of the bartender slides over Dib and he looks up. They attend to whoever has had the unfortunate idea of sitting next to him, but the sight brings an idea to mind. Fine. If Zim wanted to make him sick in order not to thwart his plans, Dib was gonna make him regret it. Killing the Irken or even fighting him at this point isn’t what Dib really wanted, but throwing up and being generally gross to the poor germaphobe? Genius.

He doesn’t know where the brilliant, (abiet, chaotic) thought process came from, but it’s the plan in mind when he grabs the empty can and holds it up to the bartender. “Uh, hey. Can I get one of these things again please?” He speaks as polite as he can muster, and the bartender glances away from the current patron to him. Even if they couldn’t understand him, surely they would get the idea. “Put it on the Irken’s tab. Thanks.”

The bartender doesn’t say anything, lamb eyes forever locked into a oddly creepy half-smile, but disappears and reappears with an extra soda can and places it in front of him, along with the USB. Dib cracks open the second and sips at it, absently wondering if sacrificing the health of his stomach was worth getting his revenge. Maybe he can fake a cold and spew a few sneezes on the pilot’s seat when they get back to the ship.

The USB sits in front of him, and Dib stares at for a light headed moment before sliding it off the counter and pocketing it. “Business, he said. For ship parts.” His nose wrinkles up, fingers curl around the can enough to crinkle it a bit. “Yet he didn’t take the currency with him. Ha.” A sour, low chuckle escapes him. “What a farce.”

A low, rumbling sound resides from besides him, and he looks towards it instinctively. A large shape took the seat to his right, solid and made of an oddly familiar mustard color. It takes him a few seconds to recognize the alien and a few more seconds to find the creature’s face staring at him intently, though with a plainly neutral look. It didn’t make the creature any less intimidating. Dib finds himself staring back at it longer than what would be considered polite.

A second noise, sounding similar to gibberish. Dib blinks, slowly turns his head to the origin and finds blank blue staring back at him. A Vortian, one that looks eerily similar to the one they passed by outside. Their entire aesthetic was shades of greyed blue with curved back horns atop their head. Their hands are folded underneath it’s chin, looking to Dib with a kind, if not welcoming smile.

Dib swallows the sour lump down his throat and focuses back on the drink. If he remembers correctly, Zim told him smiles didn’t mean the same thing here as they did back on Earth.

Another noise, structured like a sentence. Dib tilts back his drink and tries to ignore the alien obviously talking to him to his left, though the Vortian doesn’t seem to take a hint. Alien faces are strangely shaped, though like Zim’s they have a singular structure to show emotion, and the Vortian was beginning to grow impatient. Dib tries to glance unsuspiciously (and fails) around the crowd for any sign of Zim, and feels his throat tighten when he sees none.

The gibberish changes into something more familiar, and Dib recognizes the slight hiss at the end of the sentences. Against his better judgement, he turns back to the Vortian. Again, it asks him something akin to a question, though this time Dib could pick out a few words out from the bunch. It was speaking Irken, and judging by the look on it’s face, it was doing so reluctantly.

Well, he’s already done and made eye-contact now, and this might be his one chance to talk to some other aliens that aren’t Zim. Dib reaches into his pockets and gropes for his translator, pulls it out, powers it on, and flicks it on speaker. The invention was done by audio transcription, and whatever Dib spoke into would translate into Irken, and vice versa. He really needed to get Zim to add more languages if he could force him.

The device is only brought out in his hand for a moment before the Vortian glances to it, and it’s smile returns. “I had a suspicion there was a reason why you were ignoring me. I didn’t think you were trying to be rude.” It’s claws curl in front of it in a lazy type of fashion. “I should have used Irken from the start, sorry. I prefer not to speak in the filthy tongue.”

It’s strange to hear Irken from the Vortian and seeing such sentences typed out in front of him, even stranger when Dib finds himself taking a little longer than normal to process what the alien was saying to him. “I, uh-” Should he introduce himself? Or was there a different sort of manners on this planet considered the norm? Should he tell this alien and his buddy to fuck off? Or was that going to be one way to sign his metaphorical death certificate? “I don’t speak Irken, actually.”

The Vortian’s smile stretches a tad wider. “That’s surprising, considering you’re in the company of one.” A pause, and it tilts it’s head in the slightest. “ _Was_ in the company of one, I mean.”

Dib keeps his head low and busies himself with tilting his drink back. “Yeah, well. Irken isn’t common where I’m from.” Maybe if he ignores the emphasis that his traveling partner was gone, these creatures won’t consider him so easily picked off alone.

The Vortian must have noticed his little dodge, because it falls quiet for a moment as the bartender returns with drink that Dib doesn’t look too closely at, sipping at the contents. He’s careful enough to spare a glance towards Mustard to his right. Said alien has his head low, picking away at some sort of leafy food that was spared to him. “That must be difficult, traveling with someone who you can barely talk to. Being taken from your home is traumatic enough as it is.” It speaks and Dib nearly chokes on his drink. “ I figure you’ve only been with it short enough not to know it’s language though.”

Part of Dib, the rational part, tells him he needs to keep it cool and stay polite. The other part of Dib (the one that's steadily growing bolder by the second and fueled by the sudden feeling of curiosity and invincibility) stomps that rationality to the ground and makes him squint at the Vortian in full suspicion. “What's it to you? Do you always walk up to strangers and interrogate them about their personal life?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean any offense, of course!” It’s voice lightens when the hisses grow in octaves, a tone of voice that can’t be translated by the device and Dib only recognizes by experience. The Vortian gestures a claw towards Mustard. “The Irken told my friend here that you were his loyal slave back in the market. Though from the looks of you, you don’t act the type.”

Dib’s shock is so cold that he forgets he’s in the middle of swallowing until his throat begins to burn and he coughs, embarrassingly into his sleeve before turning back to the Vortian with wide eyes and furrowed brows. “He said _what_.”

This oddly feels like a test of some sort. The cautious thought that catches onto that detail, however, is buried underneath the feeling of bubbling lightness and surprise. Blue eyes light up at Dib’s reaction. “

Dib cuts him off in a flurry of slurred, agitated words. “That fucker- No. Listen. _Listen_. I am not-” A bubbling in the back of his throat lets out into a hiccup that makes him sound less angry than he actually is. “I am NOT his slave. Or underlying….Or minion.” He waves off with one hand and tries to play off his reaction by throwing back the can, inwardly groaning when it’s lighter in his grip. “No, he’s pretty horrible at being a traveling partner too.”

The reaction brings something of positivity across the Vortian’s expression and Dib doesn’t know whether to be worried about that or not. “I’ve never met a willing ally to the Irkens in all my years. You’ll have to forgive me for my misunderstanding.“

Dib surprises himself when he laughs. It’s a sloppy laugh. “I think that’s just a Zim thing.”

“Zim.” The Vortian repeats. Claws clack together. “I had a suspicion that who you were saddled with.”

Mustard shifts to his left and Dib is a little surprised at his easiness to forget that he was currently being surrounded right now. (It didn’t feel like it though, truly it felt like he was currently in a dream of his twelve year old self, hanging out with aliens on a far away planet and discussing how stupid his enemy was. Former enemy, of course) It’s a odd feeling, not an unwelcome one, and Dib doesn’t feel alarmed when the world spins a little as he turns to look at the Vortian in all of it’s slyness.

“Wha? You know of him? One of his little business buddies?” Okay, that came out slightly more harsh and jealous than Dib meant for it to be. He takes another gulp of soda and sets the empty can back on the counter.

“We know of him.” The Vortian answers, voice slowed as if a little perturbed by Dib’s reaction. “We can help you with him, if you’re interested. I think we’ll find a deal that can be quite beneficial.”

Something in Dib’s brain starts ringing alarm bells, but alas, Dib cares very little for reason at the moment and finds how the way the world slightly warps behind his glasses when he shifts in his seat funny, and there’s bubbling amusement in his throat when he chuckles a response. “Nah, s’okay. I’ve already got my revenge planned. Gonna…uh, throw up in the ship. Be super gross. Yeah. He hates it.”

For the first time in a long moment, confusion flashes across the Vortians face. Even Mustard’s eyes narrow at Dib and the two aliens share a look before the Vortian offers again. “Certainly our methods would provide you much more justice?” For a stranger, this guy seems pretty insistent. Dib blinks few times and focuses on the space between it’s horns so as to not look a little too lost in the conversation. “When the Irken is dead, we’ll provide an fair portion of the bounty to you for your assistance, of course.”

A hiccup dies in the middle of Dib’s throat, swallows back sour tongue and amber eyes squint at the shifting blue blur before him in processing. “What?”

“An adequate amount, of course. And you’ll be provided protection during the process.” Perhaps it’s willful ignorance or social cue misunderstanding, but the Vortian mistakes Dib’s shock and confusion for a cue to continue it’s proposal. “I’m sure we can return you to whatever planet the Irken has plucked you off from as well.”

“Whoa, whoa, okay hold on-” Dib’s words come out slurred and slowed and he’s not even sure if what he’s hearing is real or some sort of trickery of the brain thanks to the ‘soda’. “Im not-…I don’t…I don’t have _any_ fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh ,but I think you do.” Much to Dib’s chagrin, the Vortian keeps it’s welcoming and calm deamnor, despite the fact that Dib was one gust of wind away from falling out of his seat and staring at the alien with all the comprehensive brain power of a three year old. “It may seem difficult but they’re easy to kill once you’ve infiltrated their ranks. It already trusts you, all you have to do is disconnect it’s Pak-”

“Okay, stop. Just, what? What the fuck?” Dib’s hands push up against his face and he groans at the stars he sees behind his eyelids. The world is shifting and there’s an uncanny lightness in his head and chest the same way it feels like a heavy weight has been locked onto his heart and racking against his ribcage in a awful mixture of drunken anxiety. “What…What the fuck are you talking about? You’re asking me to…to what? _Kill Zim_?”

At his words, Mustard shifts back to scan the surrounding area (most likely for said Irken.) If anything, the Vortian pipes up at his answer, as if the problem Dib was facing was sort of translation issue that simply needed clarifying. “I’m glad we’ve reached the same page.”

“No. No the fuck we haven’t. I-” Dib feels his body tense in a growing mixture of anger and fear as the shock resides, and whatever resolve he had to stay polite and calm is sapped away by the effects of whatever poison’s he’s downed. HIs fists curl up until his knuckles are white, and a stuttering hiccup nearly disrupts his speech. “I don’t even fucking _know_ you!“

The Vortian must not be able to detect the hostility in Dib’s tone. The smile is a kind one when it talks. “Any enemy and killer of the Irkens is a friend of mine-”

Dib doesn’t know what snaps first; his patience or the bones in one of his fingers as he whips his first back and punches the Vortian squared in between it’s eyes. It’s a stupid move, he realizes a bit too late, as the momentum swings him forwards until both him and the alien are on the ground and Dib has to keep his knee on the creature’s stomach (who is, unfortunately, a bit taller than Dib realizes) and aims for a blue of shocked blue on the ground. “Zim is my _friend_ , you horned freak-!”

A large hand grips his shoulder hard, concrete-like grip lift’s the flailing human off the stunned Vortian (who was spewing shocked outbursts in gibberish again, the translator still sat useless on the counter) and Dib is thrown back against the counter, yelping out in pain as it hits a point in his back. Mustard is standing in front of him, keeping him at arms width and with a still neutral, if not disappointed expression. The Vortian is standing up behind him, looking to Dib with what seems to be shock.

The chatter around them went quiet before a roar began to rise. Dib’s first instinct is to grab the hand holding him back to pry off, throwing a punch at Mustard. The alien catches his fist in his hand and squeezes, cracking and popping sounds echoing out from Dib’s hand as he bites back the yell of pain until he can feel the surface of his tongue split open with blood from his teeth.

 _Fuck this._ Letting go of the hand still wrapped around him, Dib palms for the translator, wraps his good hand around it and slams it into the creature’s face. The device is broken instantly, a sorry excuse for an attack but it’s enough when one of the sharp pieces of metal punctures the creatures eye and it reveals back in pain. Dib feels the world around him spin and shift in a mix of drunken rage and steadies himself on the counter-

The reprieve lasts barely a second, a clawed hand curled into a fist punches him smack in the eye and Dib is slammed back against the counter, punched again in head until he has enough sense to raise his arm to block. The Vortian has come to it’s senses and despite being an alien, the expression of offense and anger is universal as it reels it’s arm back, hand open and three jagged claws outstretched to claw at his face.

Drunken or not, Dib has faced way too many battles with Zim that his reflex is natural. He dodges, craning his head and almost laughing at the sight of the Vortian clawing at thin air. A few patrons laugh too, until Dib’s hair is grabbed and his head is slammed against the counter top so hard his vision begins to blur in black and red. The Vortian is speaking, rage in it’s voice as it brings Dib’s head back up to slam him back down again.

(In the split second his vision was tilted upwards, Dib sees the bartender cleaning a mug across the counter, looking displeased but not surprised. Bar fights must happen often.)

The second hit hurts, but Dib yanks his elbow back into the Vortian’s stomach and it’s enough to push him off in cry of pain. “You think you scare me? Huh? You think you’re the worst-?” Drunken Dib is an overconfident one, especially one who’s patience is snapped, and the result is him dragging the Vortian with him down to the floor when he’s not sober enough to keep up his own balance to stand. “Fuck you!”

His punch snags on the Vortian’s jagged teeth and Dib briefly acknowledges something dragging against his stomach as he pulls back and aims again. The alien dodges, Dib’s hand meets the concrete floor in full momentum (again, adding to the pain that was already burning in his flesh and traveling up in waves up his arm) and something snags him, yanks him back, and the air is knocked out of his lungs as his back slams into the ground.

An alien, not the Vortian picking himself up again nor Mustard (who was currently hunched over trying to carefully extract the piece of metal sticking out of his bleeding eye.) but a new one. The snake creature, with tentacles for arms, one of which was wrapped around Dib’s arm and holding him back. Dib sneers at him and blood dribbles down his lip. _How many buddies did this guy have?_

In a series of seconds, Dib bites down on the appendage (it tastes slimy, gross, and he’s going to shudder at the memory later) but it makes the new alien hiss in pain and flinch back, and Dib grabs the leg of one of the nearby stools and with all the drunken rage induced strength he has, throws it at the snake-alien. It smacks him in the gut and knocks him back similar to what a cartoon would show, and the very sight makes him laugh despite the warm wetness pooling into his throat.

The joy is knocked out of him. Literally, as a hard kick comes down onto his stomach and Dib spits out onto the concrete. The Vortian hovers above him, knee pining Dib’s broken hand against the floor until a pathetic hiss comes out of the human’s throat. Irken spews from it’s mouth in a what can only be assumed to be curses and threat, and it’s hands wrap around Dib’s throat.

Gritted teeth, Dib kicks out and finds only air. The cheering around them becomes louder and more energetic, vision begins to blur in and out as the pressure quizzes. It forces the blood that’s pooled into the back of his mouth to spit out against his own face. Despite the haze and adrenaline rush, the Vortians murderous smile seems oddly familiar if only he were green instead of blue.

Ears are ringing and he’s sure his face has turned an unhealthy color of red when a blur shifts in his fading vision. The weight on top of him is thrown off, a wet slicing noise and something warm falling against his shirt, the crowd gasped and some even cheer louder, and Dib is yanked up by the scruff of his hoodie on his feet.

He nearly heaves right then and there, but instead pants for breath as his sense return to him, spitting out a wad of red on the floor and looking blearily at his savior.

Zim’s is angry. _Very angry,_ and alarmed _._

Pak legs skew around them both like a cage, green substance dripping off one end and his hold on Dib’s clothing is tight enough he pokes holes in the fabric with his claws. Dib’s brain takes a few seconds too long to process a reaction, so he finger guns at him with his good hand.

Zim’s reaction is less than pleased, Dib thinks, when he hisses at him for it. “What did you _do_?!”

“N’shit. Nothing.’” Dib’s setence is slurred mess of whatever comprehension he could muster and the copper on his tongue spilling his words. “I didn’t start it!”

A pained growl a few feet away. The Vortian is speaking, in Irken again, though it’s voice is coated heavy with venom and hatred. It’s clutching it’s shoulder, green seeping out between it’s fingers and the two lackies sharing concerned looks behind it. Jagged teeth sneer in Dib’s direction though it seems to be speaking more directly to newly arrived Irken, spitting out curses and other vile threats (or what can be assumed to be) at Zim too quickly for Dib’s mind to make out any of the words.

Zim’s grip tighten around Dib’s clothing, his eyes narrowing. If he was going to say anything back, he doesn’t get the chance; Dib rips himself away from his grip and makes it two, three steps ahead and fully prepared to kick the Vortian while he was down before Mustard steps in the space between them as quick as a blink. He raises a fist back, and Dib inwardly prepares to be knocked out of existence before he’s harshly yanked back again. “What in IRK are you doing?!”

“Let me go!” Dib struggles against Zim, who’s got a dead grip around under his arms and dragging him back. Some aliens in the crowd begin to cackle. “I wasn’t fucking done-”

The snake-like creature slithers forward the same moment Mustard makes an advance, though they don’t get very close when a metal Pak leg digs into the ground in front of them. Some aliens gasps at the sight, the advancers pause in their tracks and glare at the Irken who’s posed all four legs in an outward motion, dragging the human to the exit and threatening to skewer any one that inched closer.

Dib’s fighting is no match for the Irken’s strength in his current state, so he can do nothing but spit fury and kick the air at the last look at the bleeding Vortian (and all the curious onlookers) as Zim practically tows him out the door, down the alley and all but hoists him up the waist until he was flipped over the Irken’s shoulder. He yells something obscene when his forehead konks against the Pak, and it would have been funny if it wasn’t for the fact that he was both a boiling mixture of rage and humiliation.

They are moving, and quickly at that judging by how the footsteps he’s looking at are nothing but a blur beneath him, up until the snow disappears and the white is replaced by the ugly run-down tile of rooftops as Zim carries him where no curious onlookers could follow. The world is spinning and his heart is hammering still, but Dib still manages to beat at his ‘kidnapper’s’ back and smack the Pak legs a few times in protest. “Fucking- put me down!”

Zim curses something at him in English, but Dib’s ears can’t pick it up and he’s far too lost in his own flailing to pay any heed to the irritation radiating off of the Irken in waves. The wind is loud and the freezing chill seeps into his skin and makes the burning heat in his face from anger, and other things, sting much more than Dib would admit.

It’s not until a two agonizing minutes later, (which is far too long, he realizes, for his stomach to slosh around in the movement and make the entire trip unbearable) that Zim drops abruptly, stops and Dib is quite literally thrown from his shoulder in front of him until his back hits the wall of whatever building they’ve found themselves in front of.

Dib has hardly three seconds to collect his bearings (his stomach feels sick, his head is still light headed and there’s a whole flux of anxiety and emotions he’s got no control over running rampant and wild amplified by whatever he’s decided to down) before Zim grabs him by his shoulders, presses him into the brick and almost shakes the poor human. “What did you _do_?”

It takes a moment for the green mass in front of him to register as Zim’s heavily frowning, if not panicked face. “Nothing, I did nothing wrong.”

“Zim asked you to not do the Dib thing! Not to do the THING-!” Zim fuddles with his words for a moment, frustration into his voice. He shakes Dib’s shoulders a bit. “FOR A FEW MINUTES.”

“I didn’t do a thing. I’m inno-” A hiccup interrupts Dib’s defense. “Innocent.”

“ _Clearly._ ” Heavy sarcasm, the claws pressing into Dib’s shoulders tighten for a moment. There’s a awkward second of staring, red into amber, before the Irken’s shoulders rise and lower in and Dib watches in awe as Zim lets go, steps back and drags a hand down his face. Well, this was awkward. Dib shuffles on his feet, making a small indent into the snow and ignoring the shiver that runs up his spine as the cold bites through his clothes. Trying to focus on his own feet was proving to more difficult by the second, even if he stood completely still, the nauseous tipsy feeling still moved all the shapes where they weren’t supposed to be.

Something is wrapped around him and Dib blinks back startled to find his coat tossed over his shoulders. Zim looks at him expectant until Dib has enough sense to put his arms through the sleeves. He must have grabbed it for him in the scuffle.

“You bring nothing but trouble wherever you go.” Ouch, Zim doesn’t hold back any sourness tonight.

Contrary, Dib’s face breaks out in a grin without his say-so. “You…you’re literally a genocidal freak.”

“You’re bleeding.” Zim states the obvious. Claws grip Dib’s jaw more tenderly than he will remember and Zim uses his thumb to open his mouth. He frowns. “You’ve bitten a hole into your tongue, but you at least have all your teeth.”

Ah, so that’s what that weird feeling when he was talking came from. Dib cranes away from the touch and peels off the wall with a non-chalant shrug. “Don’t worry bout it.”

“You are a disgusting _mess_.”

“I am like-” He stumbles on his second step, breaking the whole cool and unaffected façade. “I’m great. I’m fantastic right now. Thank you very much. Alien dickhead.”

“Allow Zim to rephrase that. You must have had the last remaining braincell in that massive head of yours beaten into nonexistence.” Red eyes trail up and down the human’s body (Dib has half a mind to strike a pose if anything just to get on Zim’s nerves) before his face twists into concerned bewilderment. “You don’t appear to be in alot of pain for being so obviously broken.”

Actually, Dib was in a lot of pain right. Like, _a lot_. His back hurt from being thrown like a ragdoll, his stomach was queasy, his mouth felt like there was a knife embedded in his tongue, not to mention all the parts of his body that was defiantly going to be bruised to all blues and greens soon. There’s a particular pain coming up from his arm all the way to his shoulder that seemed to be stemming from his hand, thought that particular area felt oddly numb with the adrenaline. The best part about all of this is that Dib was a lot more giggly about it then he should have been. “Listen, I’m badass.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“No, no _you’re_ the idiot.” Dib points an accusatory finger in Zim’s face and the alien glares at it. He opens his mouth to add explanation to the insult but a wheezy, low laughter comes out instead. Zim narrows his eyes at the sight, antenna stretch forwards and bat the air around Dib’s head, searching for something.

Dib’s giggles die into a sloppy smile and Zim pulls back with further confusion. Whatever he was searching for, (the smell of poison? Dib’s usual ‘stink’ he claims he has? Whatever the fuck it was he was doing on the ship earlier?) he doesn’t seem to find it. It’s clear that whatever Dib was doing was perplexing him, enough to make the alien more worried than zeroing on his frustration.

Which, in Dib’s mind, was great! Maybe he could have Zim forget about the whole thing and forgoes the stress if he just took his mind off of it long enough. So in his defense, it’s a perfectly, brilliantly thought up plan to puts his current confidence boost to use when he uses his good hand to slap against the wall next to Zim’s head, lean forwards and flashes a bloodied smile.

“Are you an alien?” Dib slides forwards until his elbow is his leverage against the wall, close enough to Zim that not even his skewed mind can erase the dumbfounded look on his face.

“What?”

Dib winks at him, which comes out more like a delayed blink. “Cause you’ve abducted my heart.”

Zim is quiet enough that he can almost see the metaphorical gears whiring in the alien’s head. Dib doesn’t give him a chance to catch up, though. “I’ll let you take over my planet if you let me take you out to dinner.”

Zim blinks out of whatever stupor he fell in. Eyes narrow further, an antenna drops once again downwards and it’s close enough that it brushes against the skin of Dib’s forehead. “Zim _did_ take you out to dinner-”

“If a star fell out of the sky for every time I thought of you, the sky would be dark.”

Red eyes stare blankly, whether out of bewilderment or out of the sheer audacity of the situation, Zim eventually deadpans, pushing himself up and wrapping an arm around Dib’s shoulders right as the human delivered his next pick-up line. “Even if space is endless, I’d still find you somehow.”

Claws wrap themselves underneath his legs and Dib’s world flips a little as he’s hoisted upwards bridal style. Zim moves and his stomach slushes sideways as they begin to scale up the building, Pak legs digging into the walls as he’s hoisted upwards. He’s lucky that he can only see the sky lights and colors rather than drop into the snow below, otherwise he doesn’t think his poor nauseous stomach could handle it. Throwing up on Zim, no matter how hilarious, would probably drop them both to their deaths.

Which reminded him…Dib chuckles low into the fabric of Zim’s uniform. “Ah, sorry…”

“As you should be! I do not forgive you.” Zim is immediately snide. A pause, and he continues. “What are you apologizing for exactly.”

“Was gonna be a jerk and I…I planned on being…really gross to make you mad. ”

“You are naturally repulsive.” The sigh is heavy in Zim’s voice. He sounds exhausted. “…You’ve made Zim angry regardless.”

Dib’s cheek presses further into the Irken, swallowing the sickly feeling in his chest. “You left me there alone.”

“Yes, well…” The world shifts again. They are upright on the parking deck from before, Dib can see the Voot 2.0 out of the corner of his eye. When he moves to stand on his own feet, the grip holding him tightens and Zim doesn’t pause in his stride to the front of the ship, only slowing when he has to step over something that has fallen over near the front panels. “Be quiet.”

Dib has half a mind to bite Zim for his attitude, fueled by wanting to be let go as much as he wanted the damn alien to stop with the arrogance. Though, that thought is flung out of his mind as something dark crosses his vision and underneath Zim’s feet, and the human almost scrambles on top of his alien holder to get a better look at what's lying in the snow. “Is that…Is that a corpse?” Zim curses as Dib uses his hands to hoist him up further until he’s nearly climbing over his shoulder. In all certainty, he swears there's a random alien rotting away just outside the ship. “Is that a body? Dead body?”

“ _GIR!_ Get out here!” Zim ignores him. The windshield slides open and he wastes no time practically tossing the human inside along with himself.

Said robot drops from the ceiling (god only knows what he was doing up there) and flips back onto his feet. There’s syrup drooling from around his mouth and the robot is covered in marker. He salutes. “Master!”

A tipsy Dib, with the world still swirling, mimics the salute to the Sir-unit. Zim gestures to outside the Voot and waves with a flick of his wrist. “Good work protecting the ship, Gir. Now clean up this mess! Be quick about it. We’ve been here long enough and I don’t want it’s stink up and attract any attention.” He glances back down to the human hanging off his one arm. Dib meets his glare and tries to pry away. It’s embarrassing how little strength is takes for Zim to hold him up. “Any _more_ attention.”

Dib wrinkles his nose. “I think…I’ll throw up on you anyways.”

Gir bounces off somewhere Dib’s eyes can follow. With a spare glance towards the Sir-unit, Zim pays him little difference. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“No, I mean-” A vile nauseous feeling boils in Dib’s throat. “I’m actually gonna be sick-”

Zim’s eyes grow wide and his instinct is enough to drop his grip on Dib, jumping away just time for the human to hunch over the open side of the ship and hurl whatever contents he had left in his stomach and the damnable drink out into the snow.

* * *

Dib has been banned to the ship’s bathroom until further notice.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bathtub because standing up feels way too wobbly for him to handle, and he needs the toilet to be clear in case he vomits again. Zim left him there, to take care of a few things; some of which getting the ship ready for take off, and grabbing his phone before leaving Gir to stand guard with Dib ‘for his own protection’. Though, he’s pretty sure it’s less of that and more like he doesn’t trust Dib to walk two steps forwards without somehow figuring out to flush himself out into space, so he’s currently locked into a staring contest with a Sir-unit that has no biological need to blink.

His reflection is fucked, but he looks a little more presentable now that most of the blood is washed off. His eye is swollen and there’s a heavy scrape across his forehead, as well as a couple of scratches on his stomach he didn’t notice until he was stripped down to his pants and hoodie. He may have gotten vomit on his trench coat, but he’ll fight Zim to death before he lets that green bastard incinerate it, so the article is sitting wet and washed inside of the sink.

His hand is the worst bit. Zim had to set the bones before he could administer the magical wonders of Irken’s medicine injection, and Dib is half-certain that he took every ounce of enjoyment he got from Dib’s pain in the process. It was tender and sore like a bitch, but healing quickly. What may have taken months will now only take a few days, as long as he doesn’t push it too far.

Dib blinks, and Gir continues to stand ridged. Dib raises one hand and the robot does the same. He raises another, Gir silently repeats. He squishes his own cheeks and watches as the robot clanks himself in the face trying to do the same. Another pose. Then another. This silent game of simon says (he doesn’t know which one of them is supposed to be ‘simon’ though) continues on even when Zim’s grating voice echoes through the closed door.

“He’s acting… _weird_. And not the regular human kind of weird but he’s saying nonsense and…disoriented. Stupider than usual.” A pause. “Yes. Yes. No, no he’s already thrown up.” Another pause. “That’s impossible.” The longest pause after that, then something that sounds like an groan. “And how was I supposed to know that? Zim knows _NOTHING_ about intoxicated humans!“

It’s a safe bet to assume that Gaz is on the other end of the line and that she’s either laughing at him, grilling into him, or about as uncaring as she usually is. Dib curls his fingers to act as horns on his head, watches Gir do the same, and tries to listen into the rest of the conversation for as much as his little sobriety would allow.

Talking and more talking, words that he can’t decipher. Footsteps approach the bathroom, the door pulls open and Zim pokes head halfway through the doorway. Red eyes fall onto Dib and Gir, who slowly turn to stare at him whilst both wiggling fingers a top their heads. Zim blinks, shuts the door and walks away. “He’s not passed out. How do I undo this stupidity?”

He must have entered the cockpit because he’s not close enough for Dib to hear him anymore. After a moment, he can hear the slight echo of Zim’s voice, then silence. The ship jolts suddenly and Dib is reminded that he is, indeed, sick to his stomach as a new wave of nausea overtakes him. He’s glad now that Zim forced him to wash out his mouth repeatedly until he didn’t reek of vomit otherwise the lingering taste would have been enough to start the process all over again.

Zim enters the bathroom. His jacket and uniform shirt are gone, now clad in the black long sleeved that’s quickly became a favorite of his. He holds the door open and points to the Sir-unit. “Good work, Gir. Go play on the Dib’s laptop.”

Dib immediately pipes up. “Hey, you can’t just…”

It’s too late. The Sir-unit practically rockets out of the door, banging against the doorframe on his way out and hopefully not into the screen of his very expensive laptop. Zim shuts the door behind him and Dib tries not to let the subtle rocking of the ship bother his stomach any more than the idea that all his research might be compromised because a tiny robot had all the operating skills of a hyperactive toddler.

Zim makes the under the counter, pulling out one of the smaller first aid kits. “The Gaz human hung up on me. _Me!_ The great Zim. And for what? A video game?” He scoffs, pulling some of the supplies free. Disinfectant and a bandage roll. Dib’s sore fingers curl into his lap. “I heard an explosion in the background. She probably wasn’t even listening to me completely. The nerve of you humans.”

A short laugh comes from Dib before he can stop himself. “Uh, yeah. We got some nerve.” Zim glowers at him and Dib inwardly shrinks back with a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“I ought to strap you to a piece of scrap and eject you into a sun.” Zim sits in front of him, sitting on one knee while Dib is elevated on the bathtub side. Said human shrinks back at the action and frowns with a reddening face when Zim outstretches his hand and makes grabby motions with his claws. “Give.”

“I can do it myself.”

“Your sister said otherwise. Now give to Zim.”

He snatches the wrist against protests, and Dib winces as Zim holds it rather firmly. Even as the bandage begins to roll over the skin, there’s a dizzy urge to fall back into the bathtub, draw the shower curtain and hide from the world. “So, uh, the ship-”

Zim cuts him off with usual prideful self, with a touch of curtness to him. “-Is entering the atmosphere now. We’ll fly within the planet’s lower levels for a while to allow oxygen levels to refuel before breaching into space again.”

Dib’s fingers fidget until Zim forcibly keeps them still. “Ok, Cool.”

It’s awkward. Awkward and silent and overwhelmingly too close for Dib’s not-quite-sober-yet mind for him to wade through all the lingering emotions that were still boiling over in his system. What was he supposed to do? Apologize? He wasn’t in the wrong here, and if anything it’s Zim’s fault for leaving him alone. Sure, Dib may have lost his cool and blown his cover on an alien planet that Zim specifically told him to lay low on, but Zim totally called him a slave to other aliens. The thinks, that is, the memory is a little fuzzy in this area but he’s putting it out because it sounds like a totally Zim thing to do.

If anything, Zim should be the one apologizing. For lots of things. Plenty of things. That totally weren’t Dib’s fault. Okay, maybe some of it was Dib’s fault. But only the bar fight. Zim is hiding something, big things, and it’s so obvious that it infuriates him. Quick, while he has the courage to be bold, Dib should confront him about it. Corner Zim in the ship until he’s not able to hide it anymore, pry some truth from him. Was the trip here even supposed to be about his graduate gift in the first place? What off-world connections did he have that Dib didn’t know about? Are they a threat to Earth? Was it somehow all connected to that weird Vortian that asked to for Dib’s help to kill him?

All those coherent thoughts, and what comes out of Dib’s mouth sounds something like this: “Hey, Zim.”

Zim looks up from his half-finished work. “What.”

Dib blinks out of synch. Inside of his mind, he’s bashing his head against the wall. “Hows it going?”

Zim’s face wrinkles up where a nose would be and he quickens his pace. “I don’t know. My partner couldn’t keep his curiosities to himself and annoyed strangers with his paranormy questions until he secured himself a death wish, causing a scene and drawing all the attention on him, effectively securing both of our avoidment of this planet for future cautions because you’d be hunted down on the spot. I don’t know, Dib, how do you _think_ it’s going?”

Part of him shrinks back at the outburst, but the other half sits there until Zim’s words process fully and furrows his brows in confusion. “Thats…what you think what happened? That I tried to…to talk to them? For research?” It takes him way longer to form his sentences than he likes. “Thats not it.”

Zim presses a finger into his bruised skin just hard enough to cause Dib to hiss and he yanks it back to no avail. “I’m serious! It wasn’t!”

He scoffs at him, tying the bandage at a knot at the end and letting it go to inspect his own handiwork. A little rough, but looks more like a human did the job rather than an alien, or preferably, a drunken idiot. Zim doesn’t even look up as he searches for a tube in the kit, a small bit of Irken cream that will sting like a bitch, but it pretty effective at healing minor cuts and bruises in seconds.

Dib doesn’t even bother moving away as Zim tilts his head to the side and runs a clear jelly underneath his eye. He flinches as soon as it makes contact, but it’s not the worst pain he’s felt in the last couple of hours, so it’s manageable. It’s quiet for another moment before Zim speaks again. “Fine, I believe you.”

It takes a few seconds for Dib to catch up to him, and a few more seconds to ease and allow his eyes to flutter closed. This was actually pretty relaxing after such an exhausting day. “Really?” He lets out a soft laugh. “Oh, so you trust me?”

Zim doesn’t provide him with a direct answer, instead the tension seems to leave his shoulders, and he dabs at Dib’s eye a bit gentler than he was before. “I know you to be an innate danger magnet. It’s annoying, but not new.” HIs tone is way too soft to be considered agitated, and Dib is starting to feel sickly from the warmth that’s building up in his chest from the contact. “I wouldn’t be surprised if your ugly stink is what set them off.”

Dib chuckles a soft, raspy laugh. “Ah, about that. I punched first.”

He expects Zim to lash out again, but instead the Irken snorts. “Why? Something scare you? The great hero of Earth?”

“No, no. They asked me to help kill you for some bounty or whatever.”

The thumb brushing kindly underneath Dib’s eye stops, and he opens his eyes. Zim is tense, smile dropped and face locked into an unreadable expression. It’s a subtle thing, but Dib can feel the atmosphere in the room change, even as Zim continues what he was doing and begins to pack away the rest of the supplies. “Nonsense. They must have simply hated Irkens and approached you because of your involvement with me. Never mind inferiors like that-”

“I think they were telling the truth.” Dib continues, and almost instantly regrets his words as goosebumps ripple over his skin as Zim freezes and glares at him in an unspoken warning: _don’t_. “And I know you’re hiding shit from me.”

False confidence still lingers in him and Dib’s patience has been broken far long ago. They’ll never get anywhere if Dib keeps being afraid of overstepping the lines.

If Zim can have free crossing over whatever boundaries Dib has set in place, so can he.

“I think…I think your lying to me about a lot of shit. I know your Pak is messed up. Like, your memory. You told me there were synch errors. Like your weird robot brain couldn’t match reality with your biological one. I know that part, and the nightmares. You don’t talk about them much.” He counts one on his bandaged fingers. Zim’s eyes widen. “I know your planning something. I don’t know what, but you’re getting all these…parts. Stuff. Things, and you disappear into your lab for a long time sometimes and I can’t tell if you’re still trying to create something to take over the world again or if I can let that fear go-”

Zim’s voice is caught in the back of his throat. “Shut up your idiotic rambling.”

He raises two fingers. A cold anxiety that settles inside of his ribcage but he continues rambling anyway. “You’re being nice. And…that’s great but it’s a kind of nice that's suspicious. Like, you weren’t like this before. Not years ago. I don’t what happened but you changed, and you don’t talk about it. I think it has to do with the Tallests-”

“Dib.”

“The siren said you were lying, and I _know_ you are, but I don’t even know about what. I can’t tell if you’re _really_ my friend or if this whole thing is a set-up and you’re really going to destroy everything and kill me in the end. Or enslave me. I know about that, by the way, in the market-”

Zim’s face is twisted into a panicked anger, hands curled up into fists and shaking in the shoulders. “Silence yourself before I cut out your tongue!”

Dib counts three fingers. “And now there’s this…bounty on your head? I mean, I’m human but I’m not an idiot, Zim. I don’t know what you did. _I know you_ , so it’s probably something horrible, and I’m uh….I’m okay with that.” He fumbles with his wording, searching to match sentences with what you’re truly feeling is difficult when it feels like your throat is stuffed full of cotton. “Not really okay with it, but I’m not…I’m not gonna abandon you-”

Zim yells out but there’s a crack in his throat. “Stop!”

“-or betray you. This. Us.” Dib waves his free hand in the space between them. “Whatever this is-”

A harsh push nearly knocks the wind out of him. Dib’s back smacks the bottom of the tub, craned forwards just enough not to hit his head against the porcelain and hardly gets a second to collect his senses before Zim turns the faucet and cold water assaults him. “The fuck!”

He tries to scramble out of the tub but Zim’s hand comes down and holds him by the chest, the uncaring if water wettens his sleeve as the showerhead continues to pour. It was filtered anyways, all the more advantage for the Irken. Dib grabs blindly for him, though it’s hard to coordinate where his hands flail when his glasses were skewed and his newly arriving hangover was pounding in the back of his head. “Zim-!”

“Is this normal for drunken humans to spew such nonsense? Or is that just a symptom of your puny brained insanity?!” Maniacal laughter, though it doesn’t sound so joyous, echoes from above him. “You know nothing! NOTHING! Stop trying to apply all your feeble sentimentalities to Zim! A pathetic worm like you could never understand-!”

Dib’s hand finds purchase on the collar of Zim’s shirt and he yanks, sending the Irken tumbling into the tub and ungracefully over the human as he’s nearly knocked his head against the tile wall. Zim curses as hands grip in his shirt and Dib’s legs kick out for the faucet in some vain attempt to shut off the water. “Then make me understand! I don’t get you!”

Something cracks adjacent to his head and Dib sees a glint of metal. Two Pak legs where outstretched , one dragging a line down the tile wall and the other driving a hole into the bathroom floor, balancing the Irken so he didn’t slip. One darts out and the faucet creaks, the water stops coming to a downpour.

Somewhere in the ship, they can hear a faint proximity warning, but it’s easily drowned out by the chaos. Claws coming to the front of Dib’s hoodie while the human only had one real functioning hand to try and pry them off. Zim hisses low into his face, water dripping off of him and onto the human below.

“I don’t care about your false concern, I don’t care about what label you give our companionship as long as it’s duration is _permanent_ , and I don’t care whether or not you think you could ever understand my reasoning!” He lifts Dib up slightly so that their faces are close. He can see every shade of red reflected back at him. “Zim can protect you. I can give you your stupid research! I can give your miserable cryptids and ghosts and beasts of legend! I can give you the stars! All Zim asks is that you stop asking _questions!_ ”

“I don’t want the stars, I want you to fucking _talk_ to me!” Dib pants in his face, teeth gritted. “Can you do _that?_ ”

“Zim doesn’t own you any explanation!”

“Yes, you _do_.” Dib curls his fingers tighter into Zim’s shirt and ignores the prickle in his eyes at the sting of pain shooting up his arm. “Tell me!”

The grip around him tightens hard enough it punctures through the clothing and Dib winces. Zim’s mouth opens in an agitated wail, revealing sharp, razor teeth and fear, (true, genuine fear that he hasn’t felt towards Zim in a while) spikes through Dib and he shuts his eyes in preparing for whatever rip and tear he was deserving of.

It never comes. When Dib opens his eyes, there’s a pressure on his chest below his neck. Zim’s head is pressed against his collar bone, hunched over with Pak legs strew about above them. He’s shaking against Dib’s pulse. Breathes and dripping water fills the silence. That, and the ever growing louder pitch of the beeping from the cockpit.

“You will not abandon Zim.” Zim states, and it feels so uncertain. “Not you.”

Maybe it’s the lingering intoxication, or the stress of the situation, but a laugh rips from Dib’s throat and it echoes in the bathroom. “Now you’re getting it, space boy.” He catches his breath, throwing a arm over his face. “You’re stuck with me until I die, whether either of us like it or not.”

There’s no response, but the tightens around him lessens and Zim presses his head further into the dampness of Dib’s hoodie. He can’t tell if that’s supposed to be a good sign or not, but Zim makes no movement of moving, aside from the antenna that's twitching to the beat of the bleeping. It’s not comfortable by any means but the weight doesn’t feel out of place. Eventually, the drum of his own heart rate falls back into a more preferable pace.

Honestly? He would have probably stayed there for a while longer if it wasn’t for sudden jolt of the ship rocking hard to the right.

He’s glad they’re in the tub because if he was standing on his own two feet, he would have been flung by now, just like the med kit and all the other items he hears in bedroom as gravity takes a sharp right. Instinct causes him to flinch and when he comes to, Zim is raised hunched over him. The Pak legs prevent him from knocking into the wall. One hand underneath Dib’s neck stops his head from knocking into the sides of the tub, the other above him to stabilize himself.

“Gir?” Zim calls out. No response, but the beeping grows louder. The sound of metal on metal, and the feeling of the ship beginning to descend. The bathroom lights begin to flicker.

Dib scrambles to sit up on his elbows, alien pulling back. “What the _hell?_ Did we hit something?”

“Foolish boy!” Zim is scrambling up and skidding to the door, using his Pak legs to stay upright when the ship begins to tilt. “Something hit _us!_ ”

“Hey, wait-!” Zim is up gone before Dib can follow, and the human has to lift himself, soggy and all out of his current predicament and race out of the bathroom. He’s barely out of the room before another slam knocked him back into the doorway, sending a wave of pain through fresh wounds. Crawling along the wall and dodging the rolling items at his feet brings him to the cockpit door, sliding it open and pulling himself inside.

The massive alien ship outside the windshield incoming to ram them for a third time was probably not the best sight to see before Dib’s head makes contact with the door frame, and the world cuts to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I rushed the ending but uh, it is what it is.  
> Ok opinion time because I'm curious what you guys think: who's most at fault here for what happened at the restaurant? Zim or Dib? I need to knowwwww

**Author's Note:**

> pls sir may i have a comment sir...they feed me.


End file.
